Who I Used to Be
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: AU, Tim-centered story. Tim's life starts out very differently from the show. He meets Gibbs under very different circumstances and Gibbs pulls him off a bad path. Thirteen chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This is an AU story. It's one of the stories where I investigate how I can change Tim's history and still have him fit into what we see on the show. I've done it a few times, and this is just another one. It's not extremely long, but it's me trying something a little different. It starts pre-series, and ends in season 3.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own NCIS or the characters, and I'm not making money. The recognizable dialogue is the property of the NCIS franchise.

* * *

 **Who I Used to Be  
** by Enthusiastic Fish

 **Chapter 1**

They walked down the hall, not looking at each other.

"So?" Gibbs asked.

"A murder. Probably a drug deal gone bad."

"And? You didn't call me to help you with your investigation."

"No. We're pretty sure we got the guys responsible."

They stopped at a window and Gibbs got a look at who was inside. The young man sitting on the chair looked too thin and his clothes were old, stained and torn. He had a closed-off expression. He didn't think he was alone, apparently.

"Who is he?" Gibbs asked.

"A kid who's on his way to ruining his life. He just wasn't ready for murder to be a part of it. Yet."

"Yet?"

"He's been in trouble off and on for the last few years, getting worse every time. No family support. The only reason he's not already in prison is because he cares about his sister and hasn't wanted to put anything off on her."

"Parents?"

"None that we've found or that he'll admit to having. No one is listed in his records. If we want to dig deeper, that'll take time...and most people don't care."

"Is he guilty?"

"This time? Probably not. We think it was a case of wrong place at the wrong time. But he's _been_ guilty before, and with the wrong people involved, he'll go down just for being there. Wouldn't be the first time."

"How old is he?"

"Just turned eighteen."

Gibbs nodded in understanding. If he was convicted now, it would be hard time.

"Drugs?"

"Some. Nothing serious yet."

"Yet."

"Yeah. Yet. He's not dealing, but it's probably just a matter of time with the track he's on."

"What do you want _me_ to do?"

"My partner thinks I'm being soft on someone who's going to turn into a major criminal, given half a chance, but I think he can still be turned around. He just needs someone to do it. He needs someone to care enough to do it. That's what he's been missing."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "Why me?"

"Because if you start it, you'll finish it."

"And you won't?"

He shrugged. "I would, but he won't trust a cop."

"I'm not a cop?"

"No. You're NCIS, and he won't have any idea what NCIS is until it's too late."

"He dumb?"

"No. That's the worst thing. He's _really_ smart. He's just never had anyone to push him to use that for the right things."

"So what's going to happen right now?"

"If you're willing to throw your hat in the ring, we'll release him to your custody and you can get him away from here where there are too many people to pull him into places he shouldn't go."

"What about his sister?"

"Foster care."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. Foster care was often not the best option, but sometimes, it was the _only_ option.

"Better than having her with her brother who's starting to get into drugs. The family she's with right now is actually giving her some stability, and she needs it."

Gibbs sighed.

"I'm not asking you to adopt him, Jethro. He just needs someone to call him out. He needs someone who will be there to push him when he starts to get off track. He needs a mentor, not a father."

"Sounds like he needs both."

"If you're offering..."

"No."

"What do you say?"

Gibbs sighed. "Name?"

"Tim McGee."

Gibbs nodded and walked into the room. As soon as he opened the door, Tim sat up and looked at him warily, but he didn't say a word.

"You tired of being in here?" Gibbs asked.

"Better than other places I've been," Tim said, bitterly. "Who are you? If you're a cop, you have to tell me, and I didn't ask for a lawyer. All they have are those stupid public defenders and they don't care about me any more than anyone else. They're just hoping to get it over with, so they can get paid."

"I'm not here about whatever stupid thing you just got caught doing."

"I didn't do _anything_!" Tim said, angrily. "And they know it, too, or else they'd have put me in with the other guys they arrested. I didn't kill that guy."

"Then, what were you doing there?"

"I don't have to tell you anything. You're not a cop. You're not a lawyer. You don't have any right to demand information from me."

"You're right. I don't, but I'm here."

"Why should that matter to me?"

"Fine. I don't have to stay."

Gibbs got up and started toward the door, guessing that he'd be stopped before he left.

"Wait. If you're not a cop and you're not a lawyer. Who are you and why are you here?"

Gibbs turned around and walked back. He sat down.

"Jethro Gibbs, and I'm here to give you a chance to be something other than another stupid guy in a body bag."

"I'm not dead."

"You will be."

Tim actually smiled a little. "So will you."

"If I leave this room, you'll be dead a long time before I will."

Then, he saw it. A flash of fear in Tim's eyes. He was afraid of that very thing.

"Now, why don't you tell me why I should give you a chance?"

"You shouldn't. You don't know me. There's no reason for you to trust me. I have a record. I'm a criminal. There's nothing I say that you should believe."

Gibbs smiled. "That's the only lie you've told so far."

"What is?"

"That I shouldn't believe you. You don't lie very well."

Tim's eyes dropped for the first time.

"You can leave with me if you use this as a chance to become something better than you are. If you agree, then, you're agreeing to straighten up. No more drugs. No more stealing. No more vandalism. You'll stay with me until you go to college."

"College?" Tim repeated, looking up and scoffing at him. "I'm not going to college. That's not for kids like me."

"Yes, it is. If you work to earn it. You go to college and you play it straight. And you never get in trouble again. If you do, prison will be the least of your problems. If you go back to what I'm getting you out of, you'll have to deal with me long before the cops get you."

"You're threatening me?"

"No. It's a promise."

"What do you mean?" Tim asked, his brow furrowing.

"I'm promising that I'm not going to give up on you. If I was, I'd leave you to prison. You have a chance, Tim."

"Even if I do, I still have a record."

"You keep your nose clean, you can get it expunged. No one will know what you did before."

"Oh, come on. No one will know until I try to get a job."

"No. Not even then. You change and that's all anyone will see."

"What about my sister?"

"What about her?"

"Will anything happen to her?"

"Why would it?"

Tim shifted uncomfortably.

"She's happy where she is right now, but if I leave, she might follow me. I don't want her leaving that. That family she's with is real good to her. It's a real family and they like her. They don't like me, but they like her."

"Then, tell her you're going to college and you'll visit during the summer."

"Why are you doing this? I don't know you. You don't know me. Why?"

"Because there are some people who think you've got potential and they think I can help you see it."

"Why you?"

Gibbs smiled. "No idea. Well?"

"I have to decide right now?"

"What else have you got to do?"

"I _was_ there when that guy got killed."

"What guy?"

"I don't know. I don't know who he was, but..."

"But what?"

"Doesn't that make a difference to you?"

"Nope."

Gibbs could see that Tim was afraid of making a decision like this. He was being told to trust a total stranger. Trust was probably rather thin on the ground, but Tim needed to do it. Gibbs didn't have unlimited time and this was his only chance.

"I don't have the grades to get into college."

"Why not?"

"Because I skipped."

"Not because you couldn't do it?"

Tim scoffed at him again. "That stuff is _easy._ "

"So why not do it?"

"It's boring."

"You're going to have to lose that attitude."

"It doesn't matter! I can't get into college if I don't have the grades. And I don't."

"You'll get in."

"What if I don't?"

"You will."

Another pause.

"Well?" Gibbs asked. "I don't have all day."

Tim looked at him for a long time, as if trying to figure out if this was real or not.

"Well?"

"If I don't like it?"

"You're welcome to go back to prison."

Gibbs judged that it was time to make an assumption. He stood up and walked over to the door. He opened it and then turned back. Tim was still sitting on the chair.

"You coming?"

Tim looked around the room and then stood up. Gibbs was surprised at how tall he was. He was scrawny, yes, but with a few square meals, he could turn out to be fairly solid.

They walked out of the police station and Gibbs saw Tim tense up.

"You start running now and you're dead."

Tim instantly relaxed.

"Let's go."

They got into Gibbs' car and he drove away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The trip back to DC was plenty long, and the car was full of heavy silence. Tim said nothing and Gibbs just considered the young man sitting beside him, staring out the window. After an hour or so, Tim began to droop and his eyes closed.

Asleep, he looked much younger than he did when he was awake. There was an innocence there that life hadn't quite managed to kill. Yet. Would all this work? Gibbs had no idea. Tim didn't seem too hopeful, but there was something about him that just didn't quite add up.

Who were his parents? There should be _some_ record of who they were. Even if they had dropped off the face of the earth, surely, there would be a birth certificate or something like that. Did his sister not have any parents on file, either? That just didn't make sense, but he wondered if Tim would be willing to talk about them. Probably not.

The question, of course, was what he was going to do with a kid who wasn't really a kid anymore and probably wasn't really excited about making his own life better. His sister seemed to be the key to his humanity. Tim had a soft spot for her. He clearly cared about making sure her life was good. Not very many people could accept that a family member was better off somewhere else.

Gibbs was also interested in how articulate Tim had been, and in how much he had known. He knew his rights _and_ he knew how the system worked. He wasn't stupid. He wasn't mentally deficient in any way. He was definitely smart, but it appeared that he had hidden that. The world had given up on him, and he had returned the favor.

No matter what he'd said, getting Tim into college if he didn't have the grades would be difficult, but that would be the key. Tim needed to believe that it was possible. He needed to have hope of things getting better, and he needed a boost up onto this different path. The question was whether or not he'd stay there. Would he be able to see this as a good thing or would he slip back into old habits?

The farther away he was from his former life, the better. So maybe the fact that it would probably be nearly a year before Tim could start college, even if everything went right, would be for the best. He'd have all that time for Gibbs to whip him into shape.

Then, Gibbs paused in his thoughts. Had Tim been abused? He didn't seem to have the hallmarks of it, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Tim wasn't typical.

Finally, he could see DC approaching. He was glad. It was nearly three a.m., and he'd been driving for a significant portion of the day. He would never admit it to anyone, but he was _tired_.

There wasn't much traffic at this time of night, so he made good time. Then, he was pulling up to his house.

"Wake up, Tim. We're here."

Tim sat up quickly and looked around.

"Where are we?" he asked, blearily.

"My home," Gibbs said.

Then, Tim woke up more and he remembered that he didn't trust Gibbs. It was both sad and a little amusing to see him try to look tough. He knew it wasn't necessary, but he wasn't going to give in to that.

"Are you married?" Tim asked.

"Not right now."

"You have been?"

"Yep."

Tim's brow furrowed. "More than once?"

"Yep."

"Why?"

"Sometimes, I wonder. Come on in."

Gibbs got out of the car, and Tim followed suit. They walked into the house, although Tim seemed more than a little hesitant about doing so. Gibbs just kept up his usual pace, trusting that Tim would follow him...and amazingly, Tim did. He walked behind Gibbs, just shy of stepping on his heels.

"Bathroom is right there," Gibbs said, pointing.

Tim looked at him and then nodded and went into the bathroom. Gibbs took that opportunity to go and get some sweats for Tim to wear until he could take him shopping. Preferably tomorrow. Not everything was open on Sundays, but Gibbs didn't care about getting anything stylish. Tim just needed clothes to wear that were new.

After a few minutes, Tim came out of the bathroom. He looked at Gibbs with a skeptical expression. He even raised an eyebrow.

"Now what?"

"Now, you go to bed," Gibbs said and tossed Tim the sweats.

"And you're going to trust me?"

"Don't have much choice," Gibbs said. "I need to sleep, too."

"Where am I sleeping, then?"

Gibbs just pointed toward his spare room. Tim looked that way and then looked back at Gibbs. His expression changed.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Already answered that."

"No, you didn't. You didn't really. You said someone asked you to do it. That doesn't explain why you're doing it. You're talking in circles, like you think I'm stupid and won't notice."

"You're not stupid."

"I know that," Tim said, sounding irritated.

"That's why," Gibbs said. "Go to bed."

He walked up the stairs to his own room, determined to give Tim the trust he said he had. However, he couldn't deny that, in spite of his gut feeling that Tim _was_ trustworthy, he was a little nervous about leaving him downstairs. He heard the door to the spare room close and he hoped that would be the sign of things to come.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim woke up when it was light outside. He sat up in the bed and looked around. There was nothing to make this feel like a home. It was like the house was really empty. There was just someone who happened to live there. He knew that would make no sense if he said it out loud, but it was the best way to describe the way it felt.

He took a deep breath. He had thought that he was going to prison. No one would believe him when he said he wasn't involved. No one would listen to a punk with a record when he said that he had only come upon the scene by chance, especially when he wouldn't tell them where he'd been going. But then, that cop had put him in a room instead of a cell. That had been different, and the cop hadn't seemed so bad as some, but still... Tim had known it was only a matter of time. That was his luck. Sarah would be upset, but her foster family wouldn't. Tim couldn't blame them, not completely. He resented the way they looked at him the rare times they let him visit, but he appreciated the way they took care of Sarah. That was good.

It was one of the reasons why he had used the school computers to get rid of any identifying information for both of them. Was that permanent? Really, he didn't know. He just knew that he had done what he could to make sure that they had no parents on record.

No one would be able to tie either of them to their parents. Would anyone try? He didn't know, but he wasn't going to take that chance. No one knew that he was good enough to do it, so no one would think to ask. All to the better, as far as Tim was concerned.

But now, he wasn't sure what would happen or what he should do. This wasn't at all what he had expected would happen. It was like a stupid, sappy Hallmark movie, except that Gibbs wasn't as mushy as the people were on those stupid shows. In fact, he wasn't mushy at all. He was brusque, almost rude at times, and really pushy.

But he had also said he was making a promise.

 _Don't let yourself get sucked into believing that,_ Tim thought sternly. It wouldn't do to ignore all of his experiences up to this point just because some random guy said he thought Tim had potential.

He heard someone walking around above his head.

Really, what he should do was just leave. Would Gibbs really expend any effort trying to get him back? It seemed ridiculous to think that he would care about some random teenager he'd only met a few hours before.

Tim put on his own clothes and opened the door, ready to creep out of the house and start running. He walked as quietly as he could and got his hand on the doorknob.

"Going somewhere?"

Tim spun around. How in the world had Gibbs moved so quietly? It was like he'd appeared out of nowhere. He said nothing, choosing instead to look at Gibbs warily.

For his part, Gibbs almost seemed to be smiling.

"You want to eat?"

On cue, Tim felt his stomach rumble and he knew he couldn't pretend that he wasn't hungry, not without looking ridiculous, and he wasn't going to do that.

"Fine."

"Good. Come on."

Tim followed Gibbs into the kitchen, wondering what to expect from this man who was a definite bachelor.

"Have a seat," Gibbs said.

Tim sat at a small table and watched as Gibbs opened a cupboard and pulled out a box of cereal. He set it down in front of Tim, along with a bowl, a spoon and milk. Tim looked at the box and felt his brow furrow. This was _not_ what he would have expected of someone like Gibbs.

"What's this?"

"Thought you were smart," Gibbs said. "Can't you read?"

"This is kid stuff."

"So?"

Tim looked at the dinosaur-shaped cereal and there was something inside him that loosened just a bit. He couldn't remember the last time he'd just sat at a table and eaten cold cereal for breakfast. Probably with Grandpa. He swallowed hard, not really understanding why he felt that way about a stupid box of cereal. Instead of saying anything, he opened the box and poured himself a bowl. While he ate, Gibbs started making coffee.

As strange as the whole situation was, it reminded Tim of that brief period when he was younger...when things had been good, the way they were supposed to be (or at least as close as they could be), that time when he'd been allowed to be a kid. It hadn't lasted very long, but he remembered it.

Gibbs sat down with a cup of coffee in his hand. There was no conversation, but Tim ate the cereal and then looked at Gibbs.

"What now?"

"Now, you get something to wear."

"I have something to wear. I'm wearing it."

"And you're getting something else. Ready?"

Tim shrugged. He wasn't sure about letting this guy buy him clothes, but he'd accept it. For now. He couldn't imagine that Gibbs was going to be taking him to someplace fancy. He was the antithesis of fancy.

 _If he tries to get_ me _to wear a suit, I'm out of here,_ Tim thought as he followed Gibbs out of the house and back to his car.

What Tim ended up getting was normal stuff, perhaps a little behind the times. Jeans, t-shirts, a couple of pairs of shoes, socks, boxers. Very simple. Before Tim realized what was happening, Gibbs also got him to a barber. Tim thought about resisting, but he could see the futility of it and submitted. Again, it was nothing fancy. He ended up with a conservative haircut. By the time they got back to Gibbs' house, it was late in the afternoon and Tim felt like he'd been through a wringer, but he had to admit that it would be nice to wear the new clothing. Sarah wouldn't even recognize him with his hair cut and his clothes clean.

Alone in the spare room, Tim pulled out his wallet. There wasn't much in it, but he did have a picture of his little sister. He smiled at the photo. If he could have taken care of her himself, he would have, but he wanted Sarah to have the normal life he'd never had, and he knew that she wouldn't have it with him.

There was a knock on the door and Tim quickly put the picture back in his wallet.

"What?"

The door opened and Gibbs walked in, silent in a way that Tim was beginning to understand was normal for him.

"What now?" Tim asked, trying to be as belligerent as he thought he could get away with. "I doubt that you can take me shopping every day."

"Now, you talk."

"About what?" Tim asked.

"You using?"

Tim raised an eyebrow.

"If I wanted you in prison, you'd be there."

Tim stared at him for a few more seconds.

"No."

Gibbs' eyebrow went up.

"I tried it a couple of times. I didn't like it."

The eyebrow went up even further.

"I didn't! I didn't like how I felt. Never did it again."

"You dealing?"

Tim hesitated, and he knew Gibbs noticed.

"No."

"But?"

"I'm not! ...but that's why I saw them... I was going to...meet a guy. And I won't tell you who it was."

"You have any supply that they'll want back?"

"No. I never made it there."

"Anyone who'll be mad that you didn't?"

"No. I don't matter," Tim said, thinking of all the times he'd heard that before. "Guys like me are a dime a dozen."

There was another silence.

"Now what?"

"Now, you call your sister."

"What for?"

"Tell her where you are. You know the number?"

Tim nodded.

"They'll let you talk to her?"

"As long as it's not collect."

"It won't be."

"Why?"

Gibbs just smiled a little and held out a phone. Tim paused for a moment and then took it. He looked at it and then up at Gibbs who simply walked out of the room.

Tim looked down at the phone and then, slowly, he started to dial. He never liked calling the Johnsons. They weren't ever outright rude, but he knew when he wasn't wanted. It had happened far too often for him to be unaware of it. Still, he'd been given an instruction by the man who was currently in charge. He knew the number by heart.

" _Hello, Johnsons."_

Tim took a breath. "Hello, Mrs. Johnson. Can I talk to Sarah?"

" _Oh. Tim."_ There was a long pause while she tried to think of a reason to say no. _"Yes. I'll get her. She has school tomorrow."_

Tim rolled his eyes. It wasn't even close to Sarah's bedtime.

"I won't be long."

" _Sarah! It's your brother!"_

Tim smiled as he heard Sarah's excited squeal. He could hear her thumping feet as she ran to the phone.

" _Timmy! You were supposed to call last week!"_

"I know. I'm sorry," Tim said.

" _Why didn't you?"_

"Some things came up, but I'm calling now."

" _Is it time? You said you thought it would be soon."_

Tim's heart twisted. He'd promised her that they'd live together when the time was right, but until then, she had to promise to stay with the Johnsons and not try to leave.

"No, Sarah. It's not. Some things have come up."

" _What?"_

"Well, I'm going to be in D.C. for a while."

" _D.C.? That's forever away! Why did you go without me?"_

Tim took a breath. "Because I needed to. It's going to take longer than I thought, but it might be better."

" _But that means that you won't be able to come very much."_

"Yeah, it does, but you can call me."

" _You're going to have a phone? A real phone number that I can call?"_

Tim laughed. "Yes. It'll change, but I'll give you the number the next time I call and that means that you can call me, but only when the Johnsons say you can. This is long distance. You don't want to make them pay too much. Okay?"

" _Okay."_

"I love you, Sarah."

" _I love you, too, Timmy. I miss you."_

"I miss you, too, but you just have to be patient. Give me a chance to figure things out."

Tim heard the front door open and close, but he was focused on Sarah, so he didn't pay attention to that.

"Let me talk to Mrs. Johnson about your talking to me more often. Okay?"

" _Mrs. Johnson! Tim wants to ask you about calling me more!"_

Tim winced. Sarah shouting that out pretty much guaranteed that it wouldn't be Mrs. Johnson he spoke to. It would be her husband who _really_ didn't like Tim. He saw Tim as a source of trouble and no more. To be fair, Tim _had_ been a source of trouble for the Johnsons in the past. That's why he didn't live with them, too. He regretted that, now, but the damage had been done. Mrs. Johnson was a tiny bit sympathetic to Tim's situation, but her husband most definitely wasn't.

He heard the deep, baritone voice of Mr. Johnson.

" _Sarah, Janene is waiting for you. It's your turn."_

" _Oh! I forgot! I'll talk to you later, Timmy! Bye!"_

"Bye, Sarah," Tim said and hoped for the best.

" _Just what did you tell your sister?"_

Some greeting, but Tim didn't expect any better. He didn't want to get cut off from her completely, so he tried to be civil.

"I've got a place to stay for the next little while and I said that, if it was okay with you guys, we could talk more. I could call her and she could call me, but only with your permission."

" _A place to stay? Are you in prison?"_

Tim stiffened. "No. I'm not in prison. If I was, I could hardly tell her that she could call me anytime, now could I. I know you don't like me, but don't forget that the only reason she's willing to stay with you is because _I_ told her to. I think she has something good there and I've said she has to stay. If I wanted her to leave, all I'd have to do is tell her that I was ready for her to come with me and she'd go. There'd be nothing you could do, but I'm not doing that and I've _never_ done that...because I know that it's better for her to be with you than with me."

Tim hated saying it, but it was true and they both knew it. He waited for Mr. Johnson to rub his face in the fact that he couldn't take care of his sister. There was a pause.

" _She had a nightmare the other night. She said that there were loud noises and monsters that wouldn't stop until you came to get her. Do you know what that's about?"_

Tim felt the lead balloon he carried around with him swell up a little bit, but he tamped it down.

"No. Do you want me to talk to her about it?"

" _Does it have to do with your parents?"_

"I don't know. Do you mind if she calls me sometimes?"

" _Only with our permission."_

"That's fine. The next time I call, I'll give you the number. I have to make sure it's okay with the guy I'm staying with, first."

" _You're in Washington, D.C.? For how long?"_

"I don't know yet."

There was another pause. Then, he heard Mr. Johnson's voice directed away from the phone.

" _Sarah, do you want to say good-bye to your brother?"_

" _Yes! Yes!"_

Tim smiled at how excited Sarah always was to see him, to talk to him. He never got tired of that. He was more than a little surprised that Mr. Johnson was letting Sarah talk to him again.

" _Timmy, when will you come to visit me again?"_

"I don't know, Sarah, but calling is good, right?"

" _But not as good as you being here. I have bad dreams sometimes, and you're the only one who makes them better."_

"They're just dreams, Sarah," Tim said. "They're not real. When they scare you, remember the song you can sing? The one I taught you?"

It was a bittersweet memory that had led Tim to teach Sarah the song, but he loved to hear her sing it, and she had since she was very young. She started to sing it over the phone and Tim felt the prick of tears that nothing else could bring out.

" _It's a web like a spider's web  
_ _Made of silver light and shining  
_ _Spun by the moon in my room at night  
_ _It's a web made to catch a dream,  
_ _Hold it fast till I awaken.  
_ _As if to tell me, my dream is of you."_

"That's right. You just sing that and know that I'm thinking of you, and I'll sing my part and the song will be whole, even though we can't hear each other singing."

" _Do you promise?"_

"I promise. Now, you'd better go finish your game."

" _I love you, Tim. I know it's not really night yet, but good night!"_

Tim grinned. "Good night."

Then, he hung up and looked over at the door. He saw Gibbs standing there, not even pretending that he hadn't heard at least _something_ of the conversation.

Tim held out the phone.

"You can call her anytime," Gibbs said.

"Okay. Now, what?"

"Dinner. Then, bed."

"And tomorrow?"

"You get ready to take the SAT."

"What good is that going to do?"

Gibbs turned around and reached out of sight. Then, he turned back with a huge stack of books. He brought them in and thumped them down on the dresser.

"You do well, you get into college."

"So you expect me to sit here and just study all day? What are _you_ going to be doing?"

"Working," Gibbs said.

"And you're going to leave me here and expect me to stay?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because of your sister."

Then, Gibbs walked away. Tim looked at the books, but not with distaste. He hadn't _hated_ school, but so much of it had posed no challenge for him. Why attend something that wasn't difficult at all? Sure, he could have got straight As, but it would have been to do nothing. What good was that? The only thing he had appreciated and used was his computer training. Still, it looked like Gibbs was really going to push for this, even if it seemed unlikely to really happen.

Well, if that's the way it was going to be, Tim decided he would go along. For now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The next morning, Gibbs got Tim up before the sun had even really risen. It seemed like it was still the middle of the night.

"What's going on?"

"Time to get up."

"Why? I just went to sleep."

"Go to bed earlier."

Tim sat up and got out of bed, yawning widely. He'd never really followed a schedule dictated by anything other than necessity. If he had the luxury of a regular place to sleep, he got up when he wanted. If this was going to be the norm, he might really _have_ to go to bed earlier.

He stumbled out of the room and into the kitchen. He wasn't surprised to see the same cereal as the day before, but he didn't mind it at all. Gibbs made no conversation, but after Tim ate, Gibbs gestured that Tim was to take his bowl to the sink. Tim understood that meant he was supposed to wash it, too.

"Study," Gibbs said. "There's food in the fridge for lunch."

Then, he turned around and left the kitchen. A few moments later, Tim was surprised to hear the front door close. He ran to the window and saw Gibbs get in his car and drive away. He was really leaving Tim alone in his house.

For a few seconds, Tim considered cleaning Gibbs out and then leaving. It would serve him right.

...but then, he thought about going to college. Really going to college. It seemed impossible, but Gibbs was saying that it wasn't. Still, was he really ready to open himself up to that?

Well, maybe it was just as well to leave things up in the air for the moment. For good or ill, he was far away from anyone who might know him.

He walked back to the room and looked at the stack of books. Where had Gibbs even got these things from? Did he expect Tim to spend all his time on this?

Probably.

Well, Tim was ready to try it out, but he refused to make a promise that he would really do it. He'd never liked school before and he wasn't going to force himself to, now.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

For the next few days, Tim gave the whole studying thing a genuine effort. When Gibbs was working, he was trying to find the textbooks interesting, but mostly, he wasn't succeeding. Finally, near lunchtime on Friday, Tim had enough. He shoved the books away from him and got up, ready to say that he was done with this whole mess and he'd find a way to make do without Gibbs' help. In fact, he actually started back to the spare room to gather up the clothes and make a run for it, sure that Gibbs wouldn't care, when there was a knock at the door.

Tim stopped and looked at the door. He wasn't sure if he should open it or not. No one had come to visit Gibbs during the entire week and he had become accustomed to the idea that he'd have complete solitude.

Still, he couldn't help but be curious.

So he crept to the window and peeked out.

It was an old man standing out there. Really old. Tim thought he looked like he should be dead already but just hadn't figured out how to stop living yet.

How dangerous could he be?

Tim walked over and opened the door. The man looked at him in surprise.

"Well, _you're_ not Jethro," he said.

"Neither are you," Tim retorted.

The man surprised him by laughing and slapping his arm good-naturedly.

"True enough. True enough. You got some spirit to you. My apologies. I didn't know that Jethro had anyone visiting. He never has visitors. What's your name?"

"Tim."

"Wonderful! I'm Thom! Well, I'm Thomas, but I've always just been Thom. Where's Jethro?"

"Working," Tim said, wondering what to think of this man.

"Oh, of course. When you get to be my age, the days just all blend into each other. I forgot that it was Thursday."

"It's Friday," Tim said, furrowing his brow.

Thom just laughed again. "So it is. Well, since I can't try to force Jethro to keep me company, can I get _you_ to?"

Tim felt a little wary, now.

"Keep you company, how?"

The man's expression became slightly confused, but then, Tim watched as the realization of how that might have sounded occurred to him.

"Oh, I see. Do you like jazz?"

"No," Tim said.

"Do you know what jazz is?" Thom asked, shrewdly.

"Yes. It's music."

"Can you name any jazz musicians?"

"Uh...no."

"Then, you don't know jazz. Why don't you come over and join me? Just on the porch of my house, across the street, and we'll listen to some jazz. We'll see if I can convert you. Never worked with Jethro."

"Uh..." Tim wasn't sure how to take someone like this. For one thing, Tim wanted to trust him. He hadn't felt that way about anyone for a long time. For another, he was so aggressively pleasant. He acted like he _wanted_ to spend time with this teenager he'd just met.

"Come on," Thom wheedled. "What else have you got to do?"

Tim thought about the books piled up on the table, the clothes he was going to pack up, the nothing he had waiting for him. Then, he looked back at the old man and wanted nothing more than to get away from all that for a while.

"Okay."

"Wonderful! You get your shoes on and come on over. You might beat me to my porch."

Then, Thom started away. He used a cane, but he seemed pretty spry for how old he obviously was. Tim thought about just locking the door and pretending the guy had never come over.

But then, that same feeling of wanting to escape from everything came over him again and before he knew it, he was pulling on his new shoes and leaving the house for the first time since Sunday. He walked across the street and saw Thom sitting on a chair on his porch, a small record player sitting beside him.

Tim climbed up the steps, and Thom smiled.

"Well, have a seat, Tim. I've just got it going."

"That's a record."

"Yes, it is."

"Why? Can't you use a CD player?" Tim asked, knowing he was being rude.

Thom blithely ignored Tim's rudeness. "That's not the way you should listen to it. Jazz was originally recorded in the age of records. CDs don't give the same sound, the same quality. You lose something in the transition from record to CD."

"So what makes jazz so special?" Tim asked, sarcastically.

"You can't make a judgment unless you listen. I can't tell you what's special about jazz. Only you can. I thought we'd start with something easy. Some Miles Davis. _Kind of Blue._ It's his best."

Tim watched as Thom started the record going. This might have been the first time he'd ever actually seen a record player. It was kind of interesting.

"So, how do you know Jethro?" Thom asked after a few minutes.

"I don't," Tim said.

"Then, what are you doing at his house?"

Tim shrugged. "He thinks he's going to get me into college."

"You don't think so?"

"No," Tim said. "He's got me studying for the SAT, but what's the point? I'm not worth anything."

"Hold on there, son. Everyone is worth _something_."

"No," Tim said, emphatically, folding his arms defiantly. "I'm a criminal and I'm not worth anything. Sometimes, people are just worthless."

There was a long pause.

"You know people like that? Worthless people?"

"Yes," Tim said, almost angrily. "And they aren't worth a thing. Waste of space. Waste of time. Waste of air."

"And you think you're one of them?"

"Yes. I _know_ I am," he said, thinking of all the times he'd been told that.

Thom shook his head.

"No, you're not."

Tim looked at Thom.

"How would _you_ know? You don't know me. You don't know anything about me. You can't say whether or not I'm worthless."

"Yes, I can. First of all, Jethro doesn't bring someone into his home if he doesn't think he can do what he says he can. So _he_ doesn't think you're worthless and he must know something about you. Second, how old are you, son?"

"Eighteen."

"I was fighting a war at eighteen. I remember thinking that I'd die and no one would know. I'd fall down in the mud and be lost forever. Forgotten. Just another body on the battlefield. Worthless, as you might say. But I wasn't. I been alive for a _long_ time, outlived some of my own kids, and I've never yet seen a man who was worth nothing. Everyone is worth something, son. You got your whole life ahead of you. If some things have gone wrong in your life, that doesn't mean you have nothing left. You have a choice. Are you going to look at your life only as those bad things or are you going to look at your life as the good things you can choose to do? Doesn't mean it's going to be easy. Sounds like your life has been hard already and it can be even harder to get away from that, at least to start. But it's worth it to fight for something better. And when you have someone reaching out to help you? You'd be a real fool to ignore it."

Tim looked down at his lap.

"And the most important reason that you're not worthless is that you came over here to sit by an old man and let him inflict jazz on you."

Tim looked up in surprise. Thom gave a wrinkly smile, and Tim found himself hesitantly smiling back. For the next hour, he sat beside Thom on the porch, listening to Miles Davis and then some Thelonius Monk. Sometimes, they'd sit in silence, but most of the time, Thom was telling Tim about the artist, the album, the features of cool jazz vs. bebop vs. modal and so on and so on.

After the second record finished, Thom leaned back and stretched.

"Well, all that jazz has tired me out. You'd better get back to your studying and I need a nap," he said.

At the thought of going back to the books, Tim felt his contentment start to ebb. It must have shown on his face because Thom reached over and patted him on the knee.

"Now, don't go thinking like that. Instead of worrying about whether or not you're going to get into college by doing this, why don't you just focus on learning something?"

"It's the same thing."

"No, it's not."

"What's the difference?"

Thom smiled patiently. "Some people just learn because that's what they love to do. They aren't learning _for_ anything, although it usually helps. I think you might be one of those people."

"Why?" Tim asked, feeling his brow furrow again. "I told you that I think all this is pointless. I never liked school. That was pointless, too."

"Because you listened to me the whole time I was talking. I'll bet I could give you a test on the stuff I told you and you'd be able to pass it. You were learning."

"I was?"

"Yes, you were," Thom said, sounding amused. "Learning isn't just what happens in a classroom, although it happens there, too. It's what you do everywhere...if you're willing to open your eyes and open your mind. Why don't you try it? Have some lunch and then, instead of just doing assignments, find something in your books that you think is interesting. Learn about it. I think you'll be surprised."

"Why?" Tim asked. "What are you thinking I'll do?"

Thom grinned. "I don't want to spoil the surprise for you. You just go and find out. Then, you can feel free to come back and tell me. Come on over anytime. I have a lot of jazz. We've only scratched the surface."

Then, Thom got up and walked into his house, leaving Tim sitting on the porch for a few seconds in surprise. He looked around and didn't want to be seen sitting here like he owned the place. So he got up and went back to Gibbs' house. He made a sandwich for lunch and then, he sighed and looked at the books. Well, he might as well try doing what Thom had suggested, but he couldn't see why it would be any different. Sure, there were interesting things out there, but how would just looking at the things he thought were interesting help him get any closer to being in college?

He pulled out the physics book and looked at it for a little bit. Then, he opened it up to the index and started looking through the topics listed. Thinking of what he'd just been doing, he looked up music, on a whim. What would possibly be in this book about music?

Tim was surprised to find ten pages on the physics of music. Curious, he turned to the pages and began to read. He read about how reed instruments produce sound and how brass instruments produce sound. As he started reading about resonance in various instruments, he realized that he wasn't quite sure what was meant by resonance. So he went back to the index and found where resonance was first introduced in the book and started reading about that. When he felt pretty good about resonance, he went back to the pages and continued reading. Then, he saw some things about amplitude and frequency which he kind of remembered learning once, but decided to look those up, too. Then, it was back to music again. When he got to the end of the section, he flipped a couple more pages and came upon a section about waves on the Sun and the Doppler effect. He remembered something about that but decided that it was worth reading more about. He went back to the index. When he got there, he saw that there was a Doppler effect for sound _and_ for light. He was intrigued, but he read about the Doppler effect on sound waves, first. Then, he read about the Doppler effect on light waves. That meant he had to read about light waves so that he knew what was being discussed.

And so it went for hours. As he finished up one topic, he would find something else that interested him or that he'd never heard of and he would start reading about that. And it wasn't all physics, either. A couple of the topics had him pulling out biology or trigonometry so that he could understand some of the tangents.

He didn't even notice the time passing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Gibbs wasn't sure what to expect when he got home. Tim had been more frustrated and irritated than anything, and Gibbs had been sure that he'd seen someone who would embrace learning given the chance. So far, however, he'd been proven wrong. Tim was going through the motions but nothing had managed to galvanize him into learning.

He parked his car and waved at Thom.

"You've got a real interesting boy there, Jethro. I hope you can get him on the right path."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. How had _that_ introduction happened?

"He's still on the fence about jazz, but at least he listened to it...unlike _some_ people I know."

Gibbs chuckled.

"I've listened to it," he said.

"Not if you don't like it," Thom called back.

Gibbs just smiled and headed inside. What he saw when he got in there surprised him. Tim was sitting at the table, five open books around him, and he was _taking notes_! About what, Gibbs had no idea, but this was the first time that Tim had seemed at all interested in these books Gibbs had borrowed from Vivienne.

As he watched, he really saw Tim's potential for the first time. This wasn't the sullen, wary teenager he'd seen. This was a person fascinated by some topic, eagerly learning about it without any thought about anything else outside himself.

He didn't want to interrupt, because he was sure that Tim would get wary again, but he figured that it looked like Tim had been working for a while and he might be ready to eat dinner, even if it was a little late.

"Tim," he said.

Tim jumped and looked back at him.

"You met Thom?"

Gibbs saw the almost smile, but Tim quickly suppressed that. Clearly, he wasn't yet willing to admit to that kind of enjoyment.

"Yeah. How old is he?"

"About 90. Maybe older."

"Wouldn't surprise _me_ if he was a hundred," Tim said.

Gibbs smiled a little and then gestured at the books.

"Going well?"

Tim looked back at them and seemed reluctant to answer honestly, but Gibbs was convinced that Tim was generally honest and that lying was not something he did casually, only in serious situations.

"Better."

"Good. You hungry?"

Tim looked at the clock and was surprised at how late it was. Gibbs suppressed a smile that time. It looked like Tim was finally getting into these books. He wondered if Thom had said something to get Tim to make a genuine effort. Regardless, he was glad to see it.

"Yeah," Tim said.

Gibbs grabbed a couple of steaks from the fridge. They were good, but not too expensive. Tim said nothing about the choice. He hadn't complained about any meal since the dinosaur cereal that first morning...and even at that, he'd eaten it nearly every morning since then. Gibbs had made a point of buying more just so that Tim could keep eating it if it made him happy.

They ate in near silence, cleaned up the kitchen and then Gibbs went down to the basement to work on his boat. After a few minutes, he heard the door creak open above him. It was the first time that Tim had ventured into the basement, at least so far as Gibbs himself knew. And nothing was out of place down here, so it looked like Tim wasn't exploring the house much.

"Is that a boat?"

"Yep," Gibbs said, not looking up.

"Why?"

"Why not?"

A long pause.

"How will you get it out?"

Gibbs just chuckled.

"You can come down."

Another pause. Then, he heard the hesitant thump as Tim walked down the stairs, but he didn't come all the way down. He stopped on the second-to-last stair and then sat down. The silence was heavy. Tim had a question he wanted to ask, but he wasn't asking it. Gibbs could tell, but he didn't want to push Tim to say something he wasn't ready to say yet. They'd known each other for not quite a week, and it would be wrong to push too hard.

Instead, he just kept working on his boat. Waiting for the right words to be said. If Tim was younger, Gibbs would invite him over to try out the wood, but Tim was still wearing that invisible armor and any outreach like that would be considered suspect.

"Will this really work?" Tim finally asked.

"What?" Gibbs asked in return.

"You keep saying I'll get into college, but I know that I don't have the grades for it. I graduated from high school, but only barely. An SAT isn't going to make that go away."

"Doesn't have to."

"But how?"

Gibbs was starting to see something of Tim's personality. The more he interacted with him, the more he saw a very intelligent person who was not willing to accept anything less than a real answer. He couldn't believe that Tim would ever have considered selling drugs. He apparently didn't like them himself. He probably knew it was wrong. It wouldn't have worked out for him.

But maybe that didn't matter. What mattered was, ultimately, what drove Tim. Gibbs didn't know what it was. Not yet, but he thought that he would be able to, given time. For now, though, he needed answer Tim's question, honestly.

"Don't know, yet."

"If you don't know, then, how can you be sure that anything will come of this?" Tim demanded. "Why should I try if you can't even tell me that there's really a chance?"

"There _is_ a chance. A good one."

"But how do you _know_ that?" Tim asked.

Gibbs stopped his work and turned to Tim. Tim was sitting there, staring at him, but instead of the belligerence Gibbs had expected, he saw desire. Tim wasn't asking because he didn't want it. He was asking because he didn't dare _let_ himself want what he couldn't see was possible.

"I know it because I won't accept anything less," he said.

"And that matters?" Tim asked.

Gibbs smiled. "Yep."

Tim furrowed his brow. Gibbs guessed that he wasn't used to someone acting like this. However, he also made a mental note to get a real answer. Tomorrow, if possible.

"Keep trying," Gibbs said.

Tim stood and left the basement without answering. Gibbs watched him leave and somehow felt more determined than ever to get Tim into college.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tom Morrow was often one of the first people at NCIS. He liked having a little while to prepare for his day, time that had no interruptions, no demands for attention. He could just sit. And sometimes, that's all he did. He went into his office and sat, enjoying the silence.

However, today, as he headed into his office, he found that someone had beat him there.

"Agent Gibbs, you're here very early," he said.

"What are the rules for getting into a good college?" Gibbs asked, with no preamble.

Morrow smiled. "Planning on going back, are you? That might do you some good. I might recommend a computer class or two."

"Not for me."

Now intrigued, Morrow gestured for Gibbs to follow him.

"What's this about, Gibbs?"

"Is a high school diploma necessary?" Gibbs asked.

Morrow sat down and looked at Gibbs, trying to figure out why this was coming up.

"It depends on the school, really. Some require it. Some don't. Some evidence of ability is required, no matter what it might be, though, and a diploma is usually a fairly good indicator."

"You know people at MIT, don't you?"

"MIT? With no high school diploma?" Morrow leaned forward. "Gibbs, I know you prefer to speak less and make people infer, but you're going to need to give me a little more detail. Why is this important? Who is it for? And why would you think that someone without a high school diploma would be ready for a school like MIT? That's an especially selective school. They only admit something like 10 out of every 100 applicants. They don't _need_ to let anyone in they don't want to. So what is going on here?"

"I'm trying to help a kid get into college. He's smart, but his high school grades don't show it. I've got him studying for the SAT right now."

"And you think MIT is the best place for someone like that?"

"For him, yes."

"Why?"

"Because he can do it, if he gets the chance. He's never had one."

"How do you know him?"

Now, Gibbs actually smiled. "I don't. Not really."

Morrow just stared at him.

"Got into trouble and a friend asked me to help him out. He's staying with me."

"For how long?"

"A week so far."

"You've known this person for a week and you think you can tell what he's capable of?"

"Yep."

Morrow figured that he should have expected that kind of answer from Gibbs.

"Well, I do know some people there. Officially, a high school diploma isn't required, but there had better be a very good reason for them to consider him."

"Like a recommendation from someone they know?"

"Not without meeting him, first," Morrow said. "I'll consider doing that, but only _after_ he takes the SAT, and the required Subject Tests. And does well. Let me know if he's worth taking a chance on and I'll talk to him. Not until then. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Then, I'll wish him good luck and I hope to hear from you about him, later."

Gibbs nodded and then left the office. After he was gone, Morrow sat back and thought about it. Of all the people who could have been asking him for help like this, Gibbs was not even _on_ the list. Something about this kid had got to Gibbs and that was interesting, in and of itself. He did have friends at MIT who would be able to exert some influence, but Morrow would only ask for that if it was possible for the kid to handle it. While something like the SAT wasn't a guarantee, the plain fact of the matter was that, if he couldn't do well on a test, he likely wouldn't do well in college, especially not at a competitive institution like MIT.

Still, Morrow did hope that it would work out.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs continued to encourage Tim to catch up and even to get beyond what he should have learned in school. The thing was that Gibbs couldn't really help him with any of it. While Gibbs was far from stupid, he hadn't studied the same subjects in much depth and certainly hadn't studied any of them very recently. So when Tim got confused, he had to figure it out on his own. Gibbs simply said Tim could do it. To Tim's surprise, he was usually right.

Tim spent the next few months doing little besides studying for the SAT. Occasionally, Thom would convince him to come over and listen to jazz. He did go when invited, but Tim never felt comfortable with the idea of going over on his own. If Thom knew that, he never said so. He just continued to ask Tim to join him on the porch. Over time, Tim found that he genuinely enjoyed the time he spent listening to jazz with Thom, although he didn't know how much of that was because of Thom and how much was the jazz itself. Thom didn't make any demands of him which gradually convinced Tim that he could relax. While he appreciated what Gibbs was doing for him, he knew that Gibbs was watching to make sure he didn't slide back into the life he'd been leading before.

What surprised him, though, was that there _was_ some temptation to do just that. Part of him wanted to go back, even though he knew it was a bad idea. He just didn't think that he could believe it was real until it actually happened.

At first, Tim tried _not_ to enjoy his studies, but he couldn't help it. As he continued to learn and, in effect, to teach himself everything he'd never learned in high school, he was seeing how much there was that interested him. The hours flew by as he worked on the same stuff he'd always ignored before. A small part of him wondered if he had just missed how interesting it was or if it was his teachers' faults as he would have claimed, had he been asked.

However, by the time he was ready to take the SAT, he had learned physics, calculus, biology and chemistry. His English skills also improved, just by virtue of how much reading he was doing. Gibbs also made him read the required literature from D.C. high schools. All in all, Tim learned more in six months than he had in six years and he was feeling quite confident about what he knew.

...until the morning of the SAT came.

Tim woke up and thought about what was coming that day and suddenly, he was terrified. This one test was going to determine the rest of his entire life! Why had he even agreed to try it? It was absolutely ridiculous!

He surged out of the room and almost ran headlong into Gibbs.

"Ready?" he asked.

"No! Gibbs, this was a stupid idea! I'm not going to do well enough on this test to make a difference, and if I fail, it'll mean there's nothing else in my life and how can I ever–?" Tim bit back the end of that question.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"How can you what?"

"Nothing," Tim muttered, looking at the floor.

Unexpectedly, there was a hand on his shoulder. He looked up and, for the first time, he saw something in Gibbs' eyes that wasn't evaluating or mild amusement. It was sympathy.

"What, Tim?" he asked.

Tim looked back at the floor.

"I...I promised Sarah that I'd take care of her, but I can't do that until I have enough money to do it. You already took away one of the few options I had, and if I bomb this, I don't have anything else. This matters too much."

"You won't bomb it."

"Yes, I will. I screw up the important things. If they matter, I mess up."

"No. You won't. You go in there and do your best. If you do, you'll be fine. You're too smart not to be."

Tim shook his head.

"Yes, because I've put too much time into this. So go shower. Eat breakfast and we're going."

Tim felt no better, but he didn't see that he had any real choice, so he did what Gibbs said.

As they headed to the testing location, at a local high school, Tim felt himself getting more and more tense. If he wasn't sure that Gibbs would literally chase him down, Tim would have been tempted to jump out of the car and start running when they hit a red light.

Instead, they reached the school without incident and Gibbs parked. Then, he walked with Tim into the building to a table. Tim felt like he'd forgotten how to speak, but Gibbs didn't help him this time. He just nudged Tim forward.

"Hello. You're here to take the SAT?" a friendly woman asked.

Tim nodded mutely and held out his registration. She seemed surprised at his nerves, but she just took the form.

"Timothy McGee?"

"Y-yes," Tim managed to stammer out.

"Do you have your own pencil?"

Tim froze. He hadn't even _thought_ about that. Of course, he'd need something to write with! But he hadn't. He was about to say that she should forget it, but suddenly, three or four pencils appeared in front of him and Gibbs folded his hand around them.

"He's allowed a calcuator on one portion of the general test."

A small pocket calculator appeared in front of him as well. Tim took it.

"He won't need anything more than that," Gibbs said.

"Okay. Then, the room is just down the hall on your left. Room E43, all right?"

Tim nodded again. Then, he felt Gibbs turn him around, forcing Tim to look him in the eye.

"Remember. You can do this, Tim," he said, very seriously. "There is no reason not to do well. Just try."

Tim nodded once more, and Gibbs gave him a light swat on the back to get him moving down the hall. Tim started walking. Then, he paused and turned back. Gibbs was already walking away. He was alone, then. Okay. He was used to that. Squaring his shoulders, he went into the room, showed his form and sat down.

He listened to all the instructions and then opened the booklet and looked at the first test. For a moment, his mind was blank and he couldn't think of a single thing he'd learned. Ever. In his entire life. Then, he thought of Sarah and why he was doing this. It all came flooding back and he bent over his booklet.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs waited and tried not to show any worry. An all-day test like this certainly wasn't _his_ thing, but he wasn't sure if it would be Tim's thing, either. Tim's confession about why he was doing this shouldn't have been surprising, but it was, simply because Tim talked about Sarah so seldom. He had called her and talked to her a few times, but she wasn't someone he mentioned much. It was great that Tim was thinking of her, but this should be something he was doing for himself, too.

Finally, he saw a door open down the hall and a few kids came out. They all were walking this way and it only took a few seconds to pick out Tim. He was walking alone, tall, still a little scrawny, and slightly hunched over as if he didn't want any attention. However, Gibbs caught an expression on Tim's face as he saw Gibbs waiting for him. Relief. He covered it quickly, but it was definitely there. Tim hadn't thought Gibbs would come back and get him. So who had left him like that before? Mother or father? Or both? Gibbs decided not to address it.

"Finished?" he asked.

Tim nodded.

"Go okay?"

Another nod. Nothing more. That was enough. Gibbs nodded in return and the two of them left the building.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

 _Six weeks later..._

Tim was looking at the envelope from The College Board. His SAT scores. What would the results be? What if the worst came to pass? What if he had passed but not enough? What if?

"It won't change if you stare at it," Gibbs said.

Tim looked up.

"What if it's not good enough?"

"It will be."

"What if it's not?"

"Then, it won't change just because you don't open it."

Tim looked at the envelope again and then, reluctantly, opened it. He slowly unfolded the piece of paper and saw the large number, showing his total score. He looked at it. Then, he looked again. And again. He looked up at Gibbs in disbelief.

"Well?" Gibbs asked.

"1510...out of 1600."

"Sounds pretty good."

"It's the 99th percentile," Tim said. He could hardly believe he was saying it. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a score on something done by him that was so high. He wasn't sure how he felt. It was a strange feeling.

"And the subject tests?"

Tim looked at the paper again. He'd taken three SAT II tests: Physics, Mathematics IIC, and Molecular Biology. Each test had been an hour long and the percentile rankings were different from the general test.

"I didn't do as well on the biology test," Tim said. "I should have studied that more."

"What are the scores?"

"I got 800 on the physics and math tests."

"And biology?"

"Only 760."

"Sounds pretty good."

"That's only the 91st percentile."

"Sounds good."

"Is it good enough, though?"

Gibbs looked at him for a few seconds. Then, he smiled, got up and walked over to his phone. He dialed a number and started talking in a low voice to someone. Tim sat where he was. How had he changed so much in so short a time? Why did he care about whether or not he did well, now? Why did he care about being good enough when he had spent so long telling himself that it didn't matter what anyone thought of him? The only person he had cared about was Sarah. No one else mattered at all. And now, all of a sudden, he wanted to know what Gibbs thought. He wanted to know if he was good enough for other people to know about him. ...and he wanted to show Thom how well he'd done.

How had this all changed so much? It had only been a few months, and he felt so different from when he'd first met Gibbs.

Gibbs hung up the phone.

"Come on. Let's go."

"Where?"

"To talk to someone about getting you into college."

"Right now?"

"You busy?" Gibbs asked, his eyebrow up.

Tim had to admit that Gibbs' preferred method of communication was kind of annoying, sometimes. Would it kill him to just answer a question?

"No."

"Come on."

Tim shrugged and followed Gibbs, still holding his scores in his hand. Then, they were driving. Gibbs had taken part of the day off, Tim assumed. He saw signs for the Navy Yard and he was confused.

"Where are we going?"

"To talk to my boss."

" _Your_ boss?"

"Yep."

"Why him?"

"He knows people."

"Oh."

Tim knew that Gibbs was an agent at NCIS, but he had no idea what the structure of NCIS was. What would be the position of someone _over_ Gibbs? Who would _dare_ be in charge of Gibbs?

Tim almost grinned as he thought that. The idea of Gibbs actually answering to another person was bizarre to imagine.

Then, Gibbs parked and led Tim inside. Tim was surprised that he had to go through a metal detector and get a visitor pass just to go into the building. Gibbs didn't act like it was strange, though, so Tim just went along with it.

"Who's this, Agent Gibbs?" the security guard asked.

He was older than Gibbs but still quite a bit younger than Thom.

"Tim McGee," Gibbs said. "We're going up to see Morrow."

The security guard smiled. "Wow. They're taking them young, now, aren't they?"

Gibbs just smiled in reply and they got on the elevator. When they got off, Tim got his first look at the place where Gibbs worked.

"Why are the walls orange?" Tim asked.

"Why not?"

"It's kind of bright."

Gibbs shrugged and they kept walking. Then, Tim got a shock when he realized just who Gibbs' boss actually was.

"The Director will see you right now, Agent Gibbs. You can go on inside."

"Thanks," Gibbs said.

"D-Director?" Tim repeated.

He stopped in his tracks. Gibbs looked back and seemed amused.

"Yes. Director."

"Director of what?" Tim asked, although he thought he knew.

"NCIS."

"I'm talking to the director of a federal agency? The one in charge of the whole thing?"

"Yep."

Tim shook his head.

"I-I-I can't...just talk to someone like that!"

He actually took a step backwards and toyed with whether or not he'd be able to run. Gibbs still looked amused, but he walked over and took Tim by the arm.

"He's just a man. Don't freak out, Tim. Come on."

Tim let Gibbs pull him into the office, but he didn't want to have this meeting. How in the world was he supposed to impress a man who was in charge of thousands of people, who was really important? Tim had never impressed _anyone_ before. He couldn't imagine that changing now.

"Director," Gibbs said.

Tim dropped his eyes to the floor. He couldn't find any bravado at this moment. It was too important.

"This is Tim McGee?"

There was no verbal response. Tim figured that Gibbs must have nodded.

A hand appeared in front of him.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. McGee."

Tim hesitated and then wiped his sweaty hand on his pants and shook the hand that was offered to him.

"Why don't you have a seat and, Gibbs, you can wait outside while we talk."

Tim jerked his head up and looked at Gibbs. Gibbs still looked amused, but he patted Tim on the back before he left.

Now that he'd lifted his head, Tim didn't feel like he could go back to staring at his shoes. He got his first look at the director of NCIS. Like Gibbs, he could see some degree of amusement, but he was more friendly-looking than Gibbs was.

"I'm Tom Morrow," he said. "Have a seat, Mr. McGee."

Tim sat down heavily on a chair and stared at him with slightly widened eyes, although he noted yet another person with a name similar to his own.

"Calm down, son. I'm not anything very special."

"Y-You're the director of NCIS. That's important."

"The position might be, but I'm not. Don't worry. Now, do you know why you're here? Gibbs doesn't tend to speak if he doesn't think it's necessary."

"He..." Tim swallowed and started again. "He s-s-said that you could get me into college. Is that true?"

"You think he might be lying?" Morrow asked.

"I think...he wouldn't admit it if he didn't really know."

"You might be right, but if he didn't really know, he'd make sure that he found out. Gibbs has his flaws, but he doesn't lie about things like this. It is a possibility that I could help you get into MIT."

"MIT? What's that?"

"Massachusetts Institute of Technology."

"That sounds fancy," Tim said, feeling a little worried about that.

"Not fancy, necessarily, but it is fairly prestigious. To put not too fine a point on it, MIT consistently ranks among the top ten schools in the world."

Tim felt his mouth open in shock.

"I take it that Gibbs never mentioned where he thought you'd be going?"

Tim shook his head, unable to speak.

Morrow smiled. "Well, MIT is where I know people, so MIT is what he had in mind. Do you have a problem with that?"

"Yes!" Tim said, feeling panicked. "I can't go to a place like that! I'm not prestigious. I'm not... I'm not anything! I'm just a...a stupid, worthless kid. I-I-I thought that...that it would just be college. I..."

There was no amusement on Morrow's face, now. Tim couldn't identify what replaced it.

"Gibbs told me that you ranked in the 99th percentile on the SAT. Was he lying?"

Tim shook his head and held out his results. Morrow took the paper and read through it.

"Tell me, Tim. How did you do so well?"

"Gibbs made me study. That's almost all I've been doing for the last six months."

"And what was your GPA in high school?"

"Only a 2.25. I didn't try. I barely went. I didn't care," Tim said and stared at the table, feeling an embarrassed heat in his cheeks.

"So did you have any tutors?"

Tim furrowed his brow and looked up, confused at the questions.

"No. Of course not. I couldn't do that. I wouldn't even know who to ask. Gibbs' neighbor let me listen to his jazz records, sometimes."

"So who taught you?"

"No one. Gibbs got me a whole bunch of textbooks and told me to learn. So I did. It's not like I could say no to Gibbs. I don't think anyone would dare say no to Gibbs."

Morrow actually laughed a little, but his serious expression didn't really change.

"So you taught yourself."

Tim nodded, embarrassed that he hadn't done all of this while he'd actually been in school, when he could have done things right.

"Then, Tim, you're definitely not stupid. You're not worthless."

"You don't even know me," Tim said. "How would you know?"

"First of all, because you got the scores you did on the SAT. That's not stupidity. It's the exact opposite, actually. Second of all, you managed to teach yourself enough to get perfect scores on the Physics and Math subject tests. Not everyone can do that. In fact, I'd venture to say that most people need help along the way when trying to catch up. You brought your skill level up from a C+ average in high school to a perfect score here. That's not stupidity. That's not evidence of being worthless. That's impressive, Tim."

"It is?" Tim asked. No one had ever said he was impressive.

"Yes. It is, and to be clear, that's exactly the kind of person that they want at MIT. Now, I'll have to convince them of that because, sometimes, it's just easier to look at the numbers, but I want you to listen to what I have to say to you."

Tim swallowed hard, certain that there was going to be some kind of a lecture coming.

"Don't ever let yourself think that you're not good enough. You are. I told Gibbs that I wouldn't do anything until I saw for myself that you had the ability. You do. You _are_ good enough for MIT."

"But I have a record! Didn't Gibbs tell you that? I broke the law. I've been a criminal."

Morrow raised an eyebrow.

"Then, don't be that anymore. Give up who you used to be. Focus on who you are and who you're going to become. That's more important. If you want to give up that past, then, do it. Let it go."

"That doesn't matter to you?"

"Should it?"

"Yes."

Now, Morrow smiled.

"Not if you're sincere, and I think you are. You're changing what you've been and that is important."

Tim hesitated and then decided that he had to be honest. If Morrow was going to do something for him, he should know what Tim's motivations were.

"But... Director Morrow, I... I'm not changing because I want to be a good person. I'm changing because I think that this might get me making money sooner than what I was going to do."

"What were you going to do?"

Tim looked down again. "Sell drugs. Gibbs knows that, but I never got a chance to try it, and getting a job seemed like a more stable way of getting to what I want."

"And what do you want?"

"To take care of my sister. She's in foster care. She's ten years old. Her foster family is really good, but I want to be the one to take care of her. I can't if I don't have the money. I'm not going to make her life bad. I'll do whatever it takes."

There was a long silence and Tim chanced looking up at Morrow again. He was still serious, but not unfriendly.

"Tim, family is very important and it's great that you want to do that for your sister, but you need to have limits to what you're willing to do. I don't know your family history, but selling drugs is rarely the best way to keep your family together. Breaking the law is rarely the best way to keep people together. It tears people apart. Being a good person is the best thing you could ever do for your sister, even if it means taking longer."

Tim thought about his own childhood and he knew that Morrow was right. He was ashamed to realize that what he'd been starting to do had been the same thing he'd experienced before. He couldn't meet Morrow's eyes.

"This is something you've gone through, isn't it."

Tim didn't answer.

"Don't let your own experience be the example you follow, Tim. What I see here is a man with potential. Use it to make things better. For yourself and for the people around you."

"So you're still going to get me into college?" Tim asked, keeping his voice soft.

"Yes. Yes, I'm going to do what I can to get you admitted to MIT. If everything works out, you'll still have a few months before you'll start classes. I'll let you know as soon as I can, but in the meantime..."

Tim looked up. Morrow was smiling.

"Yes, sir?"

"In the meantime, keep up the good work."

"Yes, sir."

"Now, I need to talk to Agent Gibbs for a moment, so you can trade places with him and then, you can get back to his place."

Morrow stood up and Tim followed suit. They walked to the door and Tim left the office. Gibbs stood as soon as he saw them.

"Have a seat just there, Tim. Agent Gibbs, I'd like to speak with you for just a minute."

Gibbs nodded and went into the office. Tim saw down and stared at his hands. A few months ago, he would have been cynical and rude and would have done whatever he could to push Morrow's buttons, to get himself tossed out on his ear. But now, he was afraid. Afraid of not getting what Gibbs had repeatedly told him he could have. Was it better to have this aching hope for something that might not happen? Or would it be better to live as he had been: bitter and angry and uncaring? Tim didn't know, but the number of times people had told him he could do this was starting to have an effect, no matter how much he had tried not to let it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You never mentioned that this man has a criminal record," Morrow said.

"It's a juvenile record. He does it right and no one will ever have to know that," Gibbs said, without apology.

Not that Morrow really thought that Gibbs would _ever_ apologize. It wasn't his way. Still, this mattered, if only because Tim's record _hadn't_ yet been expunged.

"What is his history, Gibbs? Where are his parents?"

"I don't know. He won't admit he ever _had_ any."

"If his sister is in foster care, surely there's _someone_ listed in her record."

"Someone is. Tim McGee."

"No parents? No birth certificate?"

"No."

"That doesn't make sense."

"I know."

"So why aren't you pushing to find out?"

"Because he needs help more than he needs parents, especially parents like what he probably had."

Morrow nodded. That sounded like Gibbs' usual reasoning.

"It's not that simple, though. He probably could _use_ a parent, a real parent, if his history is as bad as it seems to have been."

"MIT?" Gibbs asked.

"His scores are good enough. He's going to need to fill out an application. I'll get in touch with the people I know, but in particular, he needs his application letter. You can help with that. I've seen what you do to your agents' reports when they're not good enough. Make sure it's as good as it can be, and then, you can bring all the materials to me. I'll make sure they get turned in."

"You think he'll get admitted?"

Morrow nodded. "Yes, but it might take some arm-twisting simply because this isn't going to be normal."

Gibbs nodded in acceptance of that.

"Now, you can take him home. Oh, and Gibbs?"

"Yeah?"

"I know this isn't your usual m.o., but I think he needs more positive reinforcement in his life. You could tell him that he's doing great. I don't know too many people who would be willing to put in the work that he did without any outside help and be so successful. He is exceptional. That's something that should be encouraged."

"That's why he needs MIT," Gibbs said.

Morrow just nodded and let Gibbs leave. He felt that Gibbs was squandering a real chance to make a deep connection with Tim, but he knew why Gibbs was reluctant to make that kind of connection. It would be hard to find someone who would be willing to do more than Gibbs was doing for Tim, but at the same time, it would be ridiculously easy to find someone who would give the overt support and encouragement that Morrow felt Tim needed. Still, once he got into college, there might be someone who could play that role for him. He hoped so.

And Tim was going to get into MIT. Morrow hated seeing the look in Tim's eyes. How long had he lived with that look and covered it up so that no one could ever see that vulnerability? Who had done that to him? Parents? If so, who were they? _Where_ were they?

Morrow guessed that it had almost been too late when Gibbs had been brought into the picture. That meant it would take more to bring Tim back from the brink of ruin, but Morrow figured it would be worth the effort.

No matter what, he'd do what it took to get Tim admitted.

No matter what.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

For the first time since Tim had come to DC, he invited himself over to Thom's house. He ran across the street with his SAT results in hand and knocked eagerly on the front door. It took some time, but when Thom opened the door, he was surprised to see Tim standing there.

"What brings you over here, Tim?"

Tim thrust out the paper.

"Look!"

Thom smiled. "My eyes aren't as young as they used to be, Tim. Why don't you read it to me?"

Thom sat down and gestured for Tim to sit as well.

"It's my SAT results...and I did...really well."

"Congratulations!" Thom said. "How well?"

"I got a 1510 out of 1600."

"That sounds very good, Tim. I'm proud of you."

"You are?"

"Of course! You made a real effort and it looks like it was worth it."

Tim hesitated.

"What?"

"Just doing well doesn't mean that..."

"No," Thom interrupted, sternly. "No, don't you start thinking that way. No matter what comes after, what you've got there in your hands is a good thing. Nothing can change how good it is. In fact, you stay right here."

Thom got up and walked into his house. Then, he came back out with a record.

"This one is my favorite. Been saving it for a special occasion. Thelonious Monk with John Coltrane at Carnegie Hall in 1957. Some might find it a bit abstract, but that doesn't matter. Everyone has his favorite. This one is mine. The best way to celebrate is to share something that has meaning with another person. You've shared your good news. I'm going to share my good jazz."

Tim smiled at the explanation, and he didn't complain as the needle scratched on the record and the first chords came out of the speaker. This time, unlike many of the times when they listened to records together, Thom didn't say a word. When Tim looked at him, he was just sitting there with his eyes closed and a slight smile on his face. Tim looked down at his SAT results again and he closed his eyes, too, trying to hear what Thom did in this music.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs watched out the window as Tim sat beside Thom, clearly listening to music. He smiled. If anything was going to give Tim a break from the stress he was experiencing, this was. Why jazz had turned out to be the way he relaxed, Gibbs had no idea, but whatever worked.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Two weeks later, Tim got the news that he had been admitted to MIT, and three months after that, he moved to Massachusetts and started attending college.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

 _Eight years later..._

Tim took a deep breath and walked into the tiny room that constituted his office. He didn't mind how small it was. It was his. He had truly earned this position. No one had given it to him. No one had pulled any strings to get him here. No one could say that he didn't deserve to be here. It was _his_ place. In fact, Gibbs didn't even know about it.

 _Maybe I should have told Gibbs what I ended up doing,_ Tim thought to himself, but then, he shook his head. He hadn't spoken to Gibbs in months and Gibbs only cared that he was staying out of trouble, anyway.

A smile crossed Tim's face as he thought of what Gibbs say if he realized that the punk kid he'd bailed out was now working for the same organization as he did. After starting college, he'd only seen Gibbs periodically, mostly when he decided to make sure that Tim hadn't slid back into his old ways...and Tim never had, even though the temptation had been there for a long time. A couple of times, his old friends had tracked him down and tempted him to go back, but while he had actually hung out with them once, he hadn't ever agreed to fall back into that life. He needed to keep his nose clean.

True to Gibbs' word, Tim's juvenile record had been expunged and he hadn't been required to reveal anything of his childhood. In fact, he'd managed to create a pretty good one for the few who had asked. There was a moment where the lead balloon that was always in his stomach to some degree swelled up, just slightly. Occasionally, Gibbs had asked him about his parents outright, but Tim had never volunteered any information about them. Sarah didn't really remember anything. As far as Tim was concerned, that was how it would stay.

For now, it was time for his first day of work.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs almost stopped in his forward motion when he heard Tony say _Agent McGee_.

Could it be?

Would Tim really do that? Would he have joined NCIS and never mentioned it to Gibbs?

Then, he answered his own question. Yes, absolutely. Tim _would_ do that. Gibbs had never quite been able to convince Tim that he really cared, and it had been far too easy to let the contact lessen over the years as it became clear that Tim was really shaping up to be a good man who didn't need Gibbs' help any longer. Maybe it was time to check up on him.

...maybe sooner than he'd expect.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim felt ill at seeing the dead body. He knew he'd have to get used to all this, but he wasn't exactly happy about it. Still, this was now his job and he'd do the best he could.

Then, the worst happened.

Gibbs was part of the team who came to investigate. Tim had been hopeful, when he'd spoken to Agent DiNozzo, that this would be someone else's team, that he wouldn't have to deal with Gibbs finding out about his new occupation at the same time as investigating a case.

All day, Tim tried to avoid eye contact with him, knowing that he wouldn't be able to keep his composure, and he wanted to keep his connection to Gibbs hidden from anyone who might think he hadn't earned his position.

Finally, there was a point at which Tim just couldn't avoid it any longer. A friendly suggestion and Gibbs was right in his face.

"You don't think I can be difficult?" Gibbs demanded.

Although Tim could see the slight twinkle in Gibbs' eye, he couldn't help but stammer a little during the confrontation. It had been a long time since he'd been on the receiving end of a Gibbs stare.

"I'm sure you can, sir," he said, thinking of the first time he'd really been tempted to give up on this whole going straight thing.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

" _You want to ruin yourself, Tim? You want to drop off the face of the earth? Well, think again! You're not giving up on my watch!"_

" _Who said anything about giving up? It's not a big deal!"_

" _You cut classes because they told you to. You're letting them control your life again."_

" _People cut classes all the time! It's not like I dropped out. I'm not ruining my grades by missing a day! Besides, they came to me!" Tim protested. "I didn't go to them!"_

" _But you went_ with _them. You want to fix your life, you have to cut yourself off from the way you were. You can't just go back and forth. It doesn't work. If I find out that you were with them once more..."_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

This time, Gibbs just smiled a little and continued on his way. Thankfully, Tim was paired with Agent DiNozzo during the case while Gibbs took Agent Todd on the sub. After the case was over (and after his extremely interesting date with Abby), Tim decided to nip it in the bud and wait for Gibbs to come home. He didn't want to wait at NCIS just in case someone saw and realized that he was already acquainted with Gibbs.

It took a while, but eventually, Gibbs drove up. When he got out of his car and saw Tim sitting on his steps, he raised an eyebrow and walked over.

"Hey, Gibbs," Tim said.

Gibbs walked by him and opened the door.

"You going to sit out there all night?"

Tim shook his head and followed Gibbs inside...and then, predictably, down to the basement. This time, however, Gibbs didn't start working on anything. Instead, he poured bourbon into a couple of jars and handed one to Tim. Then, he skewered Tim with that stare.

"You ever plan on telling me that you decided to join up with NCIS?" he asked.

"Eventually, I would have."

"Eventually?"

Tim shrugged and looked at Gibbs' latest boat.

"I'm not getting into trouble. I'm getting into law enforcement."

"The hiring process takes months, Tim. You could have mentioned it once."

Tim looked up. "You could have called me, too. You haven't called since I started working on it. If you had, I probably would have said something."

Gibbs' eyebrow went up again. "You're right. I could have."

Tim raised his eyebrow in response. Then, he smiled a little.

"Were you surprised?"

"Yes."

"I didn't say anything to you because I don't want anyone to think that you got me in here."

"Why would they?"

"I wanted to do it all on my own. No one can say that I got the job because of anything other than what I can do. It's all me."

"What about Sarah?"

"She's...getting ready to go to college. She doesn't need me to take care of her anymore. Isn't that crazy? She said she wanted to be closer to me, though, so she was going to try for one in Norfolk, but nothing had the program she wanted. So she's going to be at Waverley in DC. It's not _really_ close, but it's close enough."

"And her family?"

Tim's eyes darkened a little. "They still don't really trust me. I remember hearing something along the lines of not being able to change my spots. I guess I can't blame them for it. The things I did back then... Sarah came to them when I was at my lowest, but I'm trying not to give Sarah any reason to resent them. I'm staying away from them. That's what they want and I'm fine with giving it to them."

"Tim..."

Tim shook his head. "They're not like the law, Gibbs. You can't make them forget my criminal record. You can't make them forget who I was. That doesn't go away for them. That's another reason to be here instead of somewhere else. I don't have any history in this place. No one knows me."

"How long were you planning this?" Gibbs asked.

"I've been thinking about it, off and on, ever since I started grad school."

"Why?"

"Why not?" Tim said, in return, not willing to admit to anything.

The eyebrow went up again.

"You were working on computer science, not law enforcement."

"Yeah, and after 9/11, I thought about what else I could do with my life, and it just didn't seem right to focus on computers for everything. Don't get me wrong, I think they're important and I love what I can do with them, but they're not as important as people."

"Like your family?" Gibbs asked.

Another preliminary probing into Tim's past, but Tim wasn't willing to get into that.

"Just people. No one specific," Tim said, refusing to address the question.

"So you don't want anyone to know that I know who you are?"

"That's right. I don't want any favors, Gibbs. I got this job because I was good enough to get it, and I want to keep it for the same reason. I'll work my way up, and I'll get out into the field and it'll be because _I_ did it."

Gibbs raised his eyebrow again.

"Are you really worried about that?"

"Yes. I don't know exactly how many strings you and Director Morrow had to pull to get me into MIT, but it must have been a lot, and there were people who knew it and they looked down on me for it. Everything I did was tainted because they knew I didn't deserve to be there."

"You deserved it," Gibbs said. "If you hadn't, you would have failed. You didn't."

"Doesn't matter for some people, and you know it," Tim said, bitterly. "This job is _mine_ , and no one at NCIS will know that I have any connection to someone who might have got me the job. I did it all on my own."

"If that's the way you want it..."

"It is."

"Then, I'll treat you like anyone else when we cross paths."

"Good," Tim said.

"Where are you staying?"

"I'm going back to Norfolk, tonight. I have a meeting first thing tomorrow."

Tim saw the expression that told him Gibbs was going to check on who he'd been with, that even now, he was going to ask, and he decided he didn't want that tonight.

"I haven't seen them for years, Gibbs. I'll bet they've forgotten all about me by now. You don't have to keep asking."

Then, he got up and started to leave. When he got to the top of the stairs, he looked down and saw Gibbs watching him.

"Congratulations, Tim," Gibbs said, sounding amazingly sincere.

"Thanks, Gibbs," Tim said and smiled a little.

Then, it was the long drive back to Norfolk.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

As time went on, Tim was gratified to find that, while he was still definitely a probie, he was settling into this job he'd decided to pursue. He was good at it. As time went on, he pushed to get out into the field more but his supervisor scoffed at him every time he tried. It was clear that it wasn't going to happen at Norfolk. His supposed naivety and nerdiness worked against him. He thought about going back on his desire to do it all on his own and ask Gibbs for advice on how to get what he wanted, but he rejected the idea. This was _his_ job and he wasn't going to lean on someone else to do it. He'd learned a long time ago that he shouldn't rely on anyone else to do what needed to be done.

So as various people asked him to do work for them, he was more than willing to do it. The first one, the one who gave him the idea was Chris Pacci. He was at NCIS headquarters, where Gibbs was assigned but he wasn't on the same team.

Even with the end result of that case, i.e. he was suddenly on Gibbs' radar again, Tim felt that it had been time well-spent since he had been able to participate in finishing out something so important. Surely, that would work for him. Besides, Gibbs lived up to his promise. No one ever had any idea that Tim knew Gibbs beyond what he was in NCIS. That was all to the good, as far as Tim was concerned.

Then, Tony asked him for help. Then, he was back working with Gibbs again, and that time lengthened out, even as Tim started getting demands from his supervisor to get back to his real job.

Suddenly, at the end of what he had thought was his final task in DC, when he'd finally have to get back to work in Norfolk or lose his job, Gibbs came striding into the room.

"McGee, where are you going?" he demanded.

"Uh...Norfolk," Tim said. Gibbs should know that he had responsibilities, even if he'd been dodging them for the last few weeks.

"Well, I've got some good news and some bad news for you. The good news is that you've been promoted to a full-time field agent."

Tim was shocked. How had that happened? Then, he was a little suspicious. Had Gibbs... Then, the rest of Gibbs' statement asserted itself.

"Really? What's the..."

"You belong to me, now," Gibbs said, sternly.

Tim could see that challenging twinkle in Gibbs' eye. He was daring Tim to reject the chance that Gibbs was giving him. Part of Tim wanted to. He knew, now, that Gibbs had pulled the strings to get him promoted in spite of what Tim had said he wanted. That meant that Tim hadn't really earned it. ...but at the same time, Tim knew that he _deserved_ the position. He'd done everything asked of him and more. He'd also done things _not_ asked of him, and that was more important.

As he stood there, trying to figure out what to say, Tony and Kate walked over.

"Congratulations," Kate said.

"Yeah. What she said," Tony added, not sounding particularly sincere.

But, even with the ensuing head slaps, Tim didn't care. He was still dithering about whether to be excited at his promotion or irritated at Gibbs' interference.

At the end of the day, Tony and Kate left, the lights were going off as the night shift came on duty, but there were fewer people in the building and Tim felt safe in confronting Gibbs here, rather than going to his house again.

"Something on your mind?" Gibbs asked, when he saw Tim sitting at his desk.

Tim stood up and moved out of the way so that Gibbs could take the chair. Then, he stood where he was.

"Why, Gibbs?" Tim asked. "Why did you do it? I told you that I didn't want to get anything handed to me. I wanted to do this myself."

"You did," Gibbs said, calmly. "You earned the promotion, but your supervisor wasn't going to do it at Norfolk."

Tim knew that was true.

"I would have found a way," he said.

"And while you did that, you would have wasted time you could have spent getting field experience. Why bother?"

"It would have been mine," Tim said.

"It is," Gibbs said. "You earned it. Just because some blowhard at Norfolk wouldn't believe it doesn't mean that you shouldn't have got it. If you think I'm going to go easy on you, think again. You have to meet _my_ standards."

Tim looked at the floor.

"There's nothing wrong with accepting help, Tim," Gibbs said, almost gently. "Why don't you want to?"

"That's none of your business," Tim said, softly. There was no belligerence. It was just a statement.

"Yes, it is. Even if you don't believe that. Why isn't there any record of your parents?"

It was the first time Gibbs had ever directly addressed that particular issue. Tim knew that Gibbs was nibbling around the edges of something he didn't want to share. There was no way for him to find out if Tim didn't say anything. No one knew because the only person who had been there was now dead. Sarah had been too young.

 _I was too young,_ Tim thought to himself, but then, he pushed the thought away and took a breath.

"Do you really not want to be on my team, Tim? Because I could arrange something else."

Tim looked up.

"Do _you_ really want me here?"

Gibbs smiled.

"You'll be closer to Sarah."

The thought hadn't occurred to him, but that _was_ a definite plus. Tim hadn't been able to see her nearly as often as he would have liked to.

"But do you really want me on your team or is it just another way to keep an eye on me or just because you think I can't hack it?"

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"I don't do things out of pity, Tim. You should know that well enough by now. If you don't hack it, you'll be off my team. I expect you to be able to do your job and do it well. If I didn't think you could, I wouldn't have put you here."

"Isn't that why you met me in the first place?" Tim asked. "Pity for my situation?"

"No. I helped you out because a friend asked me to. And then, because you needed it." There was a pause. "And I'm not worried about needing to keep an eye on you."

"Right," Tim muttered.

"You need a place to stay while you find an apartment here?"

The need to relocate hadn't yet hit him, and Tim suddenly realized that he couldn't commute from Norfolk. It was much too far. If he stayed with Gibbs, that would give him the time he needed to find a place. ...but if anyone found out...

"Make it easy for yourself," Gibbs said.

"Okay, but I'm not coming to work with you. I'll make my own way here."

Tim could see that subtle glint of amusement that told him Gibbs thought he was being silly. Maybe he was, but Tim wouldn't allow anyone to know much of his past and if it came out that he was well-acquainted with Gibbs, the questions would start up and he wasn't willing to deal with it.

"Fine."

Tim picked up his bag and started leave.

"I have something for you at the house when you get there."

Tim turned back. "Something for me?" he asked, brow furrowing.

"Yep."

"Okay."

Tim wondered what in the world Gibbs could have for him when they'd _never_ been close enough to exchange gifts for any reason.

He thought about it all the way to Gibbs' place.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Gibbs could see that Tim hadn't lost that concern over how he was perceived. He thought back to Morrow's recommendation that he give Tim more encouragement. He had dismissed it at the time as silly and unnecessary, but he was seeing now, with the benefit of hindsight, that he'd never given Tim any reason to think that he was anything more than a project for Gibbs to complete. If Tim had wanted more, he hadn't ever received it from Gibbs, and changing that now would be suspect. If anyone had really made Tim soften, it had been Thom...which was why Gibbs was glad to have Tim here. Since Thom had died the year before (at the ripe, old age of 102), his family had been dealing with all his affairs and it had taken quite a long time to get through it all. They'd only contacted him two weeks ago.

Now, as he pulled up to his house and saw that Tim's car was already there, he headed for the door, confident that Tim would appreciate _this_ much.

To his surprise, Tim was sitting on the steps, staring across the street with a wistful expression on his face. When he noticed Gibbs, the expression changed to a smile, although he couldn't _quite_ get rid of his obvious feeling. Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"It's not like it was a surprise when he died, you know," Tim said. "I mean, when I first met him, I figured he was so old because he hadn't figured out how to stop living."

Gibbs chuckled.

"He was over a hundred, and I know he was nearly blind at the end, but still..." Tim shook his head. "I miss going over there and listening to jazz records with Thom. He made it so easy to just...be there."

Gibbs knew that he had never made it really easy for Tim to be in his home, and he saw one of the reasons for Tim's friendship with the old man. Thom never made any demands. He just sat with Tim and listened to music. Whatever conversations had happened over there, they had been done in the context of something being shared and enjoyed.

"Come on," he said, knowing more than ever that Tim would be glad of what he was about to give him.

Tim sighed a little and followed Gibbs inside.

He led Tim to the living room and pointed to the table.

"What's this?" Tim asked. Then, he looked again. "That's... Isn't that Thom's record player?"

"Yep. It's yours."

"Wait... What?" Tim asked, incredulously.

"His family brought it over here a couple of weeks ago. Took them a while to figure out who the Tim was in his will."

"Thom named me in his will?"

Gibbs nodded.

"And he left me his record player?"

Gibbs pointed to an envelope attached to the player. Tim took it and opened it, a smile crossing his face as he read it aloud.

"'There was only one person I knew who ever listened to jazz the way it was supposed to be listened to. Tim spent hours with me, just listening to my records. So I want him to have the record player and the records. The exceptions are listed below, but I don't want any of you to take from him something that he'll enjoy.

"'Tim, you take these and you listen to them. Don't treat them like they belong in some dumb museum. Jazz doesn't really mean much if it's not being heard. I hope you'll keep listening because I like knowing that it's something you care about like I do.'"

Tim laughed a little and then Gibbs saw that expression on his face that he'd seen off and on during the years he'd known Tim. The first time had been when he'd given Tim that cold cereal for breakfast. Tim always hid it as quickly as he could, but there was something about this that had touched another part of him, the part he didn't let anyone know about.

Tim looked up at him, a silent question in his eyes.

"Go ahead," Gibbs said. "You know where I'll be."

Tim nodded and knelt on the floor to go through the records. He seemed to be searching for a particular one. When he found it, he carefully set it on the player and started it going.

"This is the only record that Thom just listened to and didn't tell me about. He said it was his favorite, and he saved it until I got my SAT scores back. I still remember sitting there with him, listening to this. It's not _my_ favorite, but it's his."

Tim sat down on the couch and closed his eyes. Gibbs watched him for a few minutes. If there were any flaws in the man Tim had become, they were minor, the kind anyone could have. He'd become a good person, and Gibbs would trust him with anything.

Maybe there was a way to get Tim to reciprocate.

The problem would be getting Tim to believe that Gibbs' overtures were genuine because he'd never bothered before. It would take time, but Gibbs was seeing now that he needed to _take_ that time and let Tim know that there was someone he could lean on.

Decision made, Gibbs went down to work on his boat. Having Tim close by would make it easier to try. And for the time being, Tim would be right here while looking for an apartment.

It was time to make a start.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim sat on the couch, listening to the record player. He was still amazed that he'd been given such an unexpected gift. He would never have thought that Thom would give him something. While he had genuinely enjoyed Thom's company, he hadn't ever imagined that the old man would think of him and leave him something. He wished that he could thank Thom somehow. Tim wasn't sure if Thom had ever known just how much those hours on the porch had meant to him.

After the Coltrane and Monk record was over, Tim opened his eyes and sat up. He was tempted to put on another record, but right now, what he needed to do was really think about what was going to happen if he accepted being on Gibbs' team. It would mean having people asking questions about his past. That wouldn't be new, but these were people trained to notice if something wasn't quite right. That meant that, if he tried to lie to them, they would be more likely to notice it.

 _But how much will my childhood really come up? No one will ask me if I knew Gibbs before. There's no reason to assume it. Gibbs said he wouldn't tell anyone, and Morrow certainly hasn't said a word._

Thankfully, while Tim had limited contact with the NCIS director, he had never indicated any kind of personal connection to Tim. In fact, once Tim had been admitted to MIT, he hadn't spoken to Morrow at all, with the exception of when he was hired to work at NCIS. Since he obviously hadn't told Gibbs about it, Tim felt it was safe to assume that he wouldn't tell anyone else, either. That was also a relief.

Tim wanted to pretend that he had the option of rejecting Gibbs' offer, but he didn't. This really was the only way he was likely to get a timely promotion. His supervisor at Norfolk wasn't going to do it. Gibbs knew it. Tim knew it. He _had_ to accept this chance. If he didn't, he'd regret it for the rest of his life.

No, it was time to acknowledge that it was a great chance that Gibbs had given him and he'd be an idiot if he didn't take it. He'd just have to make do and not let anyone know. Gibbs had promised he wouldn't say anything, either.

He looked at the record player and wished again that Thom was still across the street. He had never felt better than he had when he was over there listening to jazz with Thom. Everything else in his life was tainted by the past he was still hiding. Jazz wasn't. Jazz was his escape from that. Of everything that he could have received, the records had been the best thing. He wanted them more than he could ever have wanted money. It was funny, too, since, in the beginning of all this, all he had wanted was some way to get enough money to live on. Had Thom realized how much Tim had loved it? Tim hoped so. He didn't think he'd ever said, and that was a shame. Then, Tim looked at the letter again and smiled. Yes, Thom had known. He still wished that he'd said it out loud, but it was obvious that Thom had known that Tim loved listening to jazz with him.

No matter where he ended up living, he was going to have this record player with him and he was going to listen to these records.

After a while, Tim thought about going down to the basement, but he decided he didn't need Gibbs' silence tonight. It had been a big day, full of changes, and he needed to get some sleep.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

And so things went on. Tim stayed with Gibbs for three weeks while he looked for a new place to live in or near DC. Finally, he settled on Silver Spring and moved into a small one-bedroom apartment. The first thing he unpacked was the record player. As he slowly organized his belongings, he had jazz playing in the background. Once he was settled in his new place, he invited Sarah to come and see it. It would be the first time they'd spent more than just a day together since she had first entered foster care. Now that she was an adult, she told Tim that she would make her own decisions about when she saw him and for how long and the Johnsons couldn't stop her. While Tim was happy to see her more often, he cautioned her about alienating them since they'd done so much for her for so long.

Still, when he opened the door and saw Sarah standing there with her usual grin, he was ecstatic to have her with him, even temporarily.

"Tim!" she squealed and hugged him tightly. "Just a few more weeks and we'll be right next to each other! I'm so excited!"

"Me, too," Tim said. "Well, do you want the tour? It won't take very long. You can see most of the apartment from here."

Sarah laughed and looked around.

"Tim, you don't even have a couch."

"No space for it."

"You could get rid of some of your computer junk."

"Absolutely not," Tim said, acting offended.

"Well, where am _I_ going to sleep?" she asked.

"In your dorm," Tim said, teasingly.

Sarah slugged him on the arm.

"Come on and look at the bedroom."

They walked into the bedroom.

"It's a big bed, Tim," Sarah said. "But are you really saying that we can share?"

"Well, how often are you actually going to spend the night here?" Tim asked.

Sarah hugged him again.

"I guess I can't give up the childhood dream of us living together and you taking care of me," she said.

"Yeah. It just wasn't meant to be, Sarah. You don't need me to take care of you," Tim said. "And you love the Johnsons. Don't pretend that you don't."

"But they're not you, Tim," Sarah said. "They're not really my family. They're great and I am glad that I lived with them, but they're still not my family. _You're_ the only family I have."

"I know. Same with me...as far as I know, anyway. But if I had made enough money back then, you know it wouldn't have been in the right way."

"Yeah, I know. I wish I didn't, but I do."

Tim shook off the dour mood and smiled.

"So, now that you've seen the apartment, how about some dinner?"

"Are you cooking?" Sarah asked.

"Yes. I'm cooking."

"Okay."

They went into the kitchen and Tim made spaghetti. They sat together and ate, but then, Sarah got a look on her face, and Tim knew that he wasn't going to like what she was about to ask.

"Tim...I've been wanting to ask you about this for a long time, but it never seemed to be the right time, and when I was younger, I didn't know how to ask. I'm not sure I do, now."

"What is it?" Tim asked, although he thought he knew.

"I don't really remember Dad at all. Do you?"

Tim took a breath and set down his fork. He didn't like going here, even in his mind.

"I mean, I don't remember Mom, either."

"She wasn't my mom," Tim said, seizing on something he could easily talk about. "I never knew my mom at all."

"I remember Grandpa."

"Me, too," Tim said, smiling a little. "Even though he wasn't _my_ grandpa. He was yours, but I still think of him that way."

"But, Tim, what about Dad?"

"What about him?"

"Who was he? What was he like?"

"Why are you asking?" Tim asked, trying to put her off.

"There's this dream I've had over and over again. When I was little, it was just a nightmare, but I think it's something that actually happened. I just don't really remember it."

"What dream?"

"I've told you about it before. You told me to sing."

Tim knew what she meant, but he was willing to pretend he didn't.

"What dream?"

"I'm hiding from something dangerous. I'm hiding in a hole or something. There are loud noises all around, but I'm hidden, and I know that if I make any noise the other sounds will come and get me. You tell me to stay quiet until you get back. Then, the noises stop and it's completely silent. ...and you never come. I'm alone in the dark."

"I'd never leave you alone in the dark," Tim said softly. "Never."

"I know, but the dream feels like something real, like I'm remembering something that happened, but I just don't know all the details."

"And you think it has something to do with Dad?"

"Yes."

"Sarah, Dad was a worthless bum," Tim said, as sternly as he could. "There's no reason to give him any thought at all. The only good thing to come from him was you. ...and I think it was probably more your mom than him. It must have been."

Sarah smiled a little.

"Really, Sarah, don't waste any energy on Dad. He's not worth thinking about. The less you let him into your mind, the better."

"But I don't know who he is, Tim. He's part of who I am."

"No, he's not," Tim said, instantly. "Dad isn't a part of you. If you need someone to give you history, think about Grandpa, instead. He was a good man. It's the only stable home I ever had until Agent Gibbs came along. The only time I remember being happy was with him."

"But you weren't with him very much. He died almost before _I_ remember."

"Yeah, I know."

Tim thought back to Sarah's grandfather and all the times he'd shown up there and just been accepted without question. Grandpa Logan had been one of the best men Tim had ever known.

"Tim, I..."

"No," Tim said, cutting her off. "Sarah, I love you, but just leave this alone. Dad isn't worth your time. Not one little bit. He's worthless."

Then, Tim stood up and took the dishes to the sink. He turned on the water so that he could wash them without looking at Sarah. After a few minutes of studious washing, Sarah broke the silence.

" _You_ don't want to talk about Dad at all, do you."

"No," Tim said, without turning around.

"Okay, Tim. I won't ask anymore."

"Thanks."

After dinner, they went into Tim's bedroom and settled down on the bed. Tim knew that they were old to be sharing a bed, but they were siblings and, really, if push came to shove, he'd end up leaving the bed for Sarah and sleeping on the floor.

Finally, after all this time, he had a place that was his own, a stable job that was his own, and he could get down to living like a normal human being.

...if only he could forget the past.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Tim found that, irritated at Gibbs' interference or not, he enjoyed being a field agent. He didn't ever admit it to Gibbs, but he was glad of the transfer and the promotion. He felt that he was steadily improving. Sarah was attending Waverley and she spent a lot of time with him.

He felt that things were really looking up for him. It wasn't that everything was perfect. He was shocked by Kate's death and very surprised when Morrow was replaced by Director Shepard, but in the balance, he felt that his life was really quite good, that just maybe, he _could_ forget his past and just live his life.

But then, something happened.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim walked into the alley, looking at the car and the confrontation. He called out and identified himself and suddenly, he was under fire. His training kicked in and he drew his weapon and fired back. The car sped away and the man who had been standing was now lying in the alley. He ran over and knelt down to check him.

He was dead. It was a man. He was dead.

For some reason, he couldn't think beyond that. All the rules and regulations that he knew by heart were gone. He was just staring at the dead man, trying to stave off panic and the desire to run away.

Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder. He looked back and saw Gibbs looking down at him. Tim had no idea what to say, so he said nothing. He knew that he probably looked a lot more freaked out than he should be. After all, someone had fired at him. He was trained to fire back when fired upon.

"Are you all right?" Gibbs asked.

Tim looked down at the man again.

"He's dead, Boss."

"Are _you_ all right?"

"He shot at me, Boss! He fired. I wouldn't have fired if he hadn't fired at me, first!"

"What happened?"

"The SUV pulled up in the alley and this guy was standing in the alley talking to whoever was in the SUV. I called out, identified myself and he turned and fired at me."

Tim stood and looked down. The lead balloon swelled up larger than ever and he felt sick. There was no ID, no way to tell who he was. Just another body. ...someone he had killed.

 _It's not the same,_ Tim thought to himself.

He told himself that, but it was hard to avoid thinking about it, hard to keep himself from comparing.

"I wouldn't have done it...if he hadn't..." Tim whispered. "I..."

"Hey, Tim. It's okay. We'll figure this out."

Tim nodded vaguely, but he couldn't settle. He wanted to run away and hide. He wanted to get away from the dead body he was seeing on the ground, the body that kept turning into someone else. It was only the years of stability that had come before that kept him from making a run for it as he would have in his teen years.

"If he hadn't," Tim whispered again, almost inaudibly, but then, he walked away, finally tearing his eyes from the body.

He spent the time that passed until Ducky and Jimmy got there trying to calm himself down, but he couldn't get rid of the lead balloon in his stomach. It was just there, large, heavy and making him want to cry or throw up. He wasn't sure which, but he didn't do either one.

He didn't want to pick up his weapon again. When Gibbs had him demonstrate what he'd done and where he'd stood, he hadn't been able to use his gun. He didn't even want to hold it. All through the investigation, he felt as though he was one step away from having a full meltdown. From Tony trying to make him feel better to Ziva obviously doubting his honesty, Tim just felt like everything was falling apart. Then, he went to Metro. He hadn't been in a police station since he was eighteen years old and he'd never wanted to be there again. He felt like a kid again as Kazin interrogated him and then... he was booked for negligent homicide.

Homicide. Killing another person.

Even when arrangements were made for him not to be incarcerated, he felt as though his guilt was written all over his face. He might as well have been wearing a scarlet M.

Murderer.

He trudged back into NCIS, feeling like the bottom had fallen out of his world. As he walked to his desk, Gibbs came out of nowhere and nudged him on the shoulder.

"I let you down," he said gruffly.

"Boss, I think it's the other way around," Tim said, feeling an ache that had nothing to do with Gibbs' words.

"I should have gone with you to Metro," Gibbs said.

He really seemed to mean it, but Tim shook his head.

"I don't think it would have made a difference. I panicked. I thought he had a weapon in his hand. I need to face it. I shot a good cop making an arrest."

 _I killed another human being._

"What cop makes an arrest without a weapon?" Gibbs demanded.

Tim couldn't even care. A man was dead, with or without a gun in his hand. But he tried to focus and respond when he needed to. As the others scattered to get evidence proving his innocence, Gibbs focused on Tim again.

"Boss, he still didn't fire at me," Tim said.

"You saw a flash, McGee. You heard a gunshot. You had no way of knowing if Benedict was firing at you or not. If I was in your position, McGee, I'd have fired."

Tim doubted that. He didn't think that Gibbs would really have killed a man if he didn't deserve it. And Gibbs finally showed some impatience.

"Go on!" he said. "Run Halligan's phone records. See if you can't figure out who he was meeting with."

Tim went to his desk to try and do the work and then, suddenly, Gibbs said something more.

"Could be your two rounds weren't the fatal one."

Tim looked at him, but Gibbs wasn't looking back. He was just working. Tim could hope, but even if that was the case, he still would have shot a man twice. For no reason.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs could see that Tim was still taking this hard. Actually, it seemed like he was taking it harder than he should. Yes, the first time shooting a suspect was difficult and friendly fire was worse, but Tim's reaction was far beyond what Gibbs would have expected, especially from someone who had come into his sphere because he'd been present at the scene of a murder when he was eighteen years old.

That was why he decided to take Tim with him. He could see Tim's reluctance to take his back-up weapon, but Tim needed to get back in the saddle again. He couldn't be afraid of using a gun.

At first, everything seemed fine. The confrontation with Archer went just as Gibbs had thought it would.

...until Archer knocked him to the ground and was ready to kill them.

...and until Tim stood there with his hand on the gun but froze without pulling it.

Gibbs managed to get his own gun out and fire on Archer, but it was a close thing. Archer almost beat him to the draw.

Instantly, fear combined with frustration and Gibbs got to his feet and then got in Tim's face.

"Don't ever hesitate because you second-guessed yourself again. I'll take your badge. Are we clear?" he demanded.

Tim managed to stammer out an agreement.

"Clear," he said, almost in a whisper.

Then, Gibbs walked away, leaving Tim standing there, staring at another body. Gibbs was angry that Archer had almost killed him, angry that Tim had dropped the ball, and irritated that yet another Metro cop was dead.

At least this one was the one who should have been dead before.

And it was over. Things could get back to normal. He made the calls that needed to be made and waited until Ziva and Tony got there. Then, he got Tim out of the way. The last thing he needed was to be hounded by Metro. Gibbs had shot this one. He was the one who needed to be there. He dropped Tim off at headquarters, told him to write up his statement and then go home. In the meantime, he went back to the scene and offered himself up for Metro to question. Unlike Tim, he felt no guilt about this death and they had the evidence to show that Archer had been dirty.

Finally, in the evening, they were able to go back to NCIS.

"Where's McGee, Boss?" Tony asked.

"Sent him home early."

"He could probably use some time off," Tony suggested. "He was really upset when I bugged him before."

"Feeling paternal, Tony?" Ziva asked, grinning.

"Shut up," Tony said, looking embarrassed.

"He'll be fine," Gibbs said.

Now that it was over, Tim would be fine. He wasn't the guilty party and he'd have a weekend coming soon enough.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim hid in the stairwell until he was sure that he could get to Abby's lab unobserved. Abby turned around when he came in.

"I thought you'd be out celebrating," she said.

"No," Tim said. He'd never felt _less_ like celebrating.

"Did you come down for a hug?" Abby asked, lifting her arms with a smile.

Tim just stood there.

"What did you find out?" he asked, silently begging her to absolve him of this murder.

Abby dropped her arms and looked at him sympathetically.

"I ran every test I could think of. The slugs are too damaged. There's no way to tell who fired the kill shot."

Tim felt his last chance slip away.

"Does it really matter?" Abby asked.

"Yeah. It matters," Tim said. Then, he turned to walk out of the lab.

Abby came up behind him and gave him a hug.

"Tim, it'll be okay. You're not to blame for any of this."

"Except two bullet wounds in an innocent man," Tim said.

"You couldn't have known," Abby said. "There is no way you could have known. Anyone else would have done the same."

"But they didn't do it," Tim said. "I did."

"Come on, Tim. You shouldn't be alone tonight," Abby said, grabbing his arm.

Tim pulled away.

"No, Abbs. I _want_ to be alone tonight. I'll see you tomorrow."

He went up to the bullpen and sat at his desk. He looked around the now-empty space. Gibbs was gone. Ziva and Tony were gone.

 _I don't deserve to be here._

He had never deserved it, but now, he knew for sure that he couldn't stay here. The lead balloon in his stomach was still there, refusing to deflate. He felt it and he wondered if he'd explode from the pressure.

Finally, he made a decision. He pulled up a word processor and began to type.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Gibbs came into work early the next morning. With all the details of the Archer and Benedict case, he knew there'd be plenty to do.

When he got to his desk, however, all of that flew right out of his mind.

Sitting on his desk was a badge. A piece of paper was folded up neatly beside it. He picked up the paper and opened it.

 _Gibbs,_

 _I quit. By the time you read this, I'll have submitted the form to HR and I'll be gone. Even if you think you should want to find me, you don't need to bother. I'm gone. I won't be at home. Sarah doesn't need me anymore, and I don't deserve to be an agent._

 _I'm too guilty. I can't keep living the lie. Maybe some people can redeem themselves from what they've done in the past, but I'm seeing more and more that I can't. It was nice of you to do what you did. I know it took a lot of effort and you probably thought you were succeeding, but it's over now._

 _I'm sorry I wasted your time. Some people are just worthless._

 _Tim_

 _P.S. You should listen to Thom's records. They really are good. I could almost forget who I am when I listened to them._

Quickly, Gibbs pulled out his phone and called Tim, although he didn't have much hope.

There was no answer. It didn't even go to voice mail.

Tim was serious about this and that made Gibbs worried. When Tim was convinced, he threw himself into it, heart and soul.

But why?

What was he guilty of?

What was the lie?

Two things made him worried, though: Tim saying that Sarah didn't need him and that Gibbs should listen to Thom's records, implying that Tim himself wouldn't be.

Although he'd kept his past connection with Tim a secret, he felt that it was now time to let that secret out, at least to a select few.

He went down to Autopsy, hoping that Ducky would be there. Unfortunately, when he got to Autopsy, it was still dark. Gibbs walked inside and leaned on a table, waiting for Ducky to get there.

It took about half an hour for Ducky to arrive.

"Jethro, you're down here very early. Usually, you allow me the chance to change, first," Ducky said as the doors opened.

"Need your help, Duck."

"Help? With what?" Ducky asked. "This must be personal if you're asking like this."

"Sort of."

"Sort of?" Ducky took off his coat and hat and then joined Gibbs at the table.

"Part of this needs to be kept secret."

"I can keep all of it a secret, if necessary," Ducky said. "What is it?"

"McGee is gone. He quit."

"What? What for? He's always seemed very devoted to NCIS."

"I don't know, but this is the letter he left. Along with his badge."

Gibbs handed the letter to Ducky and watched as he read it.

"Sarah?"

"His sister."

"Oh, yes. I had forgotten. She doesn't need him?"

"He wanted to take care of her when she was younger, but she's in college now."

"Take care of her?" Ducky repeated. "Jethro, I need to know what's going on. This letter doesn't make sense to me with what I know of Timothy."

"What you know is mostly a lie, Ducky."

"Then, what is the truth?"

"I met McGee ten years ago. He was eighteen years old and on his way to prison."

"Why?" Ducky asked.

Gibbs could tell he wanted to know more than just _why_ , but he was confining himself to the immediate need for the moment.

"He was at the scene of a murder. Had nothing to do with it, but he'd been in trouble before. No family except his sister in foster care. A friend called me and asked if I would take charge of McGee, put him on the right path."

"And?"

"And I got him into MIT, with Morrow's help. He didn't want anyone to know about it because he worried about earning his own way, wanted to do it all on his own."

"And you never told anyone."

"Nope."

"I'm afraid I'm still not sure what he's referring to in this letter."

"Neither am I."

"Oh."

"He would never talk about his past to me. I don't know who his parents are...or were. I don't know where he came from. I think he changed his own records."

"I see. Then, what is it that you're expecting from me?"

"Should I be worried?"

"Ah." Ducky looked at the letter again. "I'd say yes. For whatever reason, Timothy has convicted himself of some crime, something brought on by this case?"

"Yeah."

"He feels that he's worthless, and he's leaving his sister and his job. What more does he have?"

"Not much."

"Then, yes. I'd _very_ worried. Where would he go?"

"No idea."

"While I appreciate your desire to honor Timothy's wishes, I think you should disregard them and get help from the people who might be able to assist you in tracking him down. Abigail and your team. The whole building doesn't need to know, but Anthony and Ziva would be able to help as well. Perhaps he spoke to his sister before leaving? Maybe she could could give you some idea of where he might have gone."

"Maybe. She's at Waverley. I've never met her."

"Really? After ten years of knowing him? You've never met his only family?"

Gibbs sighed and leaned against the table again.

"I screwed up with McGee," he said. "Morrow said that he needed more than just help getting into college. He needed someone building him up and being there for him. I didn't do that, didn't think it was necessary. Tim's never believed that I cared. He felt he was just a project I was completing."

"Then, perhaps, now is the time to change that perception," Ducky said, gently. "It's not too late until it's completely too late. And the sooner you find him, the further away from too late you'll be."

"Yeah."

"Is there anything more I can do for you?"

"Not right now," Gibbs said and strode out of Autopsy.

He took the elevator up to the lab and was glad to see that Abby was already there...but that she hadn't yet turned on her music.

"Abbs, need you to do something for me."

Abby grinned. "Anything for you, el Jefe."

"Find out where McGee came from. Where he was born."

Abby furrowed her brow at him and then laughed a little. "Gibbs, even you can get into a personnel file. That's easy."

Gibbs shook his head. "It's probably a lie. McGee quit and he's disappeared. I need you to find out his real history. Ignore his NCIS file and anything from twelve years ago or sooner. Find sources before that."

The smile was gone and Abby looked worried. "What's this about? Tim quit? Why? That doesn't make any sense! I mean, he was upset last night, but not at the level of quitting and disappearing! Why?"

"Don't know yet. Tell me when you find something. ASAP."

Then, Gibbs left the lab, not letting Abby ask any more questions, and headed for the bullpen. Tony and Ziva should be in by now. Gibbs realized that he was slowly making his way up through the building, but this time, he had no intention of involving Jenny. After she had been willing to throw Tim to the Metro wolves, he had no interest in letting her in on what was happening.

"Hey, Boss, where's McGee?" Tony asked as Gibbs walked to his desk. "Ziva said she stopped by his place to see if he wanted a ride, but he was gone. But he's not here, either. And he didn't answer his phone."

Gibbs looked at them. As little as he wanted to expose Tim's innermost secrets to people he'd deliberately lied to, Gibbs decided that Ducky was right. They needed to be brought up to speed on what Tim's situation really was.

"With me," he said.

"On your six, Boss," Tony said, and both he and Ziva followed Gibbs onto the elevator.

...and then outside because Gibbs decided he wanted to keep Jenny even from knowing that something _might_ be going on.

"What is it, Gibbs?" Ziva asked. "Why are we out here in the park?"

"McGee quit and he left me a note saying that he'd left, that he's worthless."

"Whoa. No way, Boss," Tony said. "I'd cheered him up!"

Gibbs raised an eyebrow at him.

"Really! I did! What happened yesterday? I mean, you're the one who shot Archer, not McGee."

"He _couldn't_ shoot Archer," Gibbs said. "He froze."

Ziva's expression was both sympathetic and pitying. Gibbs knew that while she liked Tim, she didn't necessarily think much of his worldly experience.

"More than that," Gibbs said. "He lied about his family."

Tony's brow furrowed. "What does that have to do with McGee quitting and disappearing?"

"I met him after he was accused of being an accessory to murder when he was eighteen."

Both Tony and Ziva stared at Gibbs, almost in shock. He knew that it was far from what they had expected hear.

"Never knew anything more about him. He wouldn't say. Now, he's gone."

"And you think that something from his past has made him quit?" Ziva asked.

Gibbs nodded.

"Murder?" Tony asked. "When he was eighteen? Boss, you've always acted like you never met the guy until that case at Norfolk."

"He didn't want you or anyone thinking I'd got him his job."

"Did Kate know?"

"No one...except Morrow."

"Who's no longer here," Tony said. "Man, Boss, that's...that's crazy! What do you want to do? Issue a BOLO?"

"No," Ziva said, quickly. "Not with how Metro feels about him. If he is still around here, they would not make things better."

"True," Tony said. "You should have heard the muttered remarks yesterday while you were taking McGee back here."

Gibbs didn't care about that, but he _was_ glad that Tim hadn't heard them.

"Start looking for him. Think of where he might be around here," he said. "Abby's trying to find his real birth certificate."

"His _real_ one?" Tony asked.

"He's doctored his records so that his parents aren't listed. No place of birth, either."

"Wow. His childhood must have been a doozy if he went through all that to hide the information."

"What will we do if we manage to find him," Ziva asked. "If he does not wish to be here, even if we do, do we have any right to force him?"

"He wants to be here," Gibbs said. "He doesn't think he deserves it."

"Are you certain?" Ziva asked. "Or is it wishful thinking?"

"Come on, Ziva," Tony said. "You've seen Tim. He _loves_ his job. He doesn't want to lose it. If he's left, it's because he convinced himself he had to, and if he thinks he shouldn't be here, he would try to leave, no matter what he actually wanted."

Ziva nodded briefly, but Gibbs knew that, in part, Ziva was thinking about how he'd told her that Tim didn't know how to lie. Clearly, Tim knew how to lie very well. So what else about him was also a lie? He could see it written on her face, but he didn't care to deal with that right now. He wanted to find Tim, first.

"We're on it, Boss. What if we find him?"

"Tell me. I need to talk to him first."

"All right."

Tony instantly strode back into the building, but Ziva lingered for a moment and looked at Gibbs significantly.

"He's still who he is," Gibbs said.

"Are you sure?" Ziva asked. "If he has lied about one thing, where do the lies end?"

"At the point where he doesn't need them to protect himself. He is who he is."

"Very well."

She turned and walked into the building. Gibbs watched her go. It was a home question. Where _did_ the lies end?

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

There was a jolt as the bus hit a pothole and Tim awakened, looking around himself blearily. For a few seconds, he couldn't think of where he even was.

Then, he remembered.

He looked out the window as the nondescript scenery passed him by. He was on his way to a place he had no desire to see again. He still remembered sitting on the bus with Sarah, leaving it all behind, having every intention of ignoring this part of his life. He had taken her as far away from where they'd been as he could. Washington to New York. Now, he was going back. ...but no matter where else he went, he knew he deserved to come back here. He had no real plans, if he was honest. He just knew that he couldn't stay where he'd been.

"Where are you headed?"

Tim looked over at his seat mate, a man about his own age.

"Home," he said, but he couldn't keep the dreary tone out of his voice.

"Not looking forward to it, then?"

"Nope."

"Then, why go?"

"I've been pretending it doesn't exist. Can't do that anymore," Tim said.

"Usually, you can't. It's always a part of you."

"Yeah. I know." Tim took a breath. "What about you?"

"Well, I got laid off last week. I decided that I need to rethink what I want out of life. So I'm on a road trip, but the only way I can afford it is if I take the bus. Gas is too expensive. So I'm going where the buses go and in a few weeks, I'll see if I've come to any conclusions."

"What if you haven't?"

The man grinned. "Well, then, I might have to crash at my parents' place for a little while. Not the best plan, but it's something. Nice to have a fallback."

"I'm sure it is."

"You don't have a fallback?"

"I don't have a fall forward or back," Tim said. "Not anymore. Have to see what happens."

"Well, good luck. You getting off at the next stop?"

"Nope. Got a few more to go," Tim said. "End of the line."

The man nodded. "Well, I'm getting off at the next transfer, going to walk around a bit in Chicago before moving on. Maybe home will be better than it was."

Tim smiled. "I doubt it, but thanks."

An hour later, the bus pulled into the Chicago Greyhound Bus Station. It was almost ten p.m. Tim and the man both got off the bus. Tim went to find his next bus and the man headed out to walk around Chicago. Tim had about half an hour layover before the bus left, so he bought some food and ate while he waited. Then, it was back on the bus. He had a transfer in Minneapolis, but then, the next transfer wasn't until Billings, Montana.

As the bus pulled out of the station, Tim was alone in his seat. There weren't as many people traveling at this time of night, but he had no intention of checking into a hotel. He had paid for this ticket with cash. If Gibbs decided he _had_ to try to find him, he'd be hard-pressed to do so. Tim knew that Gibbs had no idea where he'd grown up. He wouldn't expect Tim to take the Greyhound. And he couldn't trace him by credit card or phone use. Given a few days, maybe a few weeks, they'd all move on. Sarah would be upset, but it was better this way. Maybe, once he figured out what came after this trip, he could contact her.

Or maybe not. Maybe it was better just to force Sarah to accept the Johnsons as her real family. They were good people. Even Mr. Johnson wasn't as bad to Tim as he had been. He still wasn't welcome there, but they didn't outright accuse him of being a criminal anymore.

Tim closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Okay, Gibbs. You owe me," Abby said, first thing the next morning.

"You found McGee's birth certificate."

"I did _way_ better than that, el Jefe. I found something that might have to do with McGee disappearing."

Gibbs walked over beside Abby as she brought up a news article on her computer.

"I found his birth certificate pretty late last night. He was born in Port Angeles, Washington. But the article I found comes from Seattle."

Gibbs squinted a little bit.

 _Seattle man kills son-in-law during home invasion._

"Says in the article that Orin McGee broke into the Fielding home late in the evening thirteen years ago. Calvin Fielding tried to fend him off, but he was armed and in the struggle, Calvin Fielding got hold of the gun and ended up shooting and killing Orin McGee. Called the police, admitted to the whole thing. Tim McGee and his younger, half-sister Sarah McGee were both in the house at the time, but Sarah was in bed and Tim was with her. I found a death certificate for Calvin Fielding from three months later. He died of a heart attack. Then, suddenly, Tim and Sarah McGee show up in New York with no indication of who they are or where they came from."

"Charges filed?"

"Not that I could see. Orin McGee was a piece of work and no one was crying for him...not even his kids."

"Motive?"

"Well, Calvin Fielding had custody of Sarah McGee, but not of Tim McGee. Maybe Tim's dad wanted him back. Maybe he was going to rob the place. That's not in the articles. After the first couple, it's not news anymore and it fades into the background. Any more than that and you'll have to call the police in Seattle."

Gibbs nodded.

"So am I amazing or what?" Abby asked.

Gibbs kissed on her the cheek.

"You're always amazing, Abbs."

"Thank you. Now, you can go find him and bring him back here," she said. "I don't like Tim being gone."

"That's the plan." Gibbs started walk out of the lab. Then, he called back over his shoulder. "Find where Fielding and Orin McGee are buried. And send this stuff up to Tony and Ziva."

"Will do!"

Gibbs headed back up to the bullpen. Tony and Ziva were working.

"No luck, Boss," Tony said. "Ziva?"

"Nothing," she said. "If McGee is still around here, I cannot see that we will find him if does not wish to be found."

"I'm going to Seattle," Gibbs said.

"Why?" Tony asked.

"That's where McGee's from."

"Seattle, huh," Tony said. "Somehow, I never pegged him for a West Coaster."

"You think he is going back there? Why would he do that when he has spent all this time pretending?" Ziva asked.

"Because he said that he couldn't avoid his past. He's going back to it," Gibbs said and walked over to his desk. "Abby's sending you McGee's birth certificate."

"And you want us to find the real McCoy...or at least the real McGee," Tony said.

Gibbs nodded.

"What about the Director?" Ziva asked.

Gibbs just raised an eyebrow at her. He knew that Ziva and Jenny were close and that Ziva had gone to her more than once for information.

"I will not mention it," Ziva said.

"And we'll run interference if we have to," Tony added. "Have a nice flight, Boss."

Gibbs nodded and left. The flight would be fine. He just wasn't sure what the result would be or if he'd be too late to do anything. He didn't know what constituted _too late_ , but he didn't want to find out, either.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim walked down the street and stopped in front of a small house. It looked smaller than it had when he was young.

 _I guess everything looks smaller when you go back,_ Tim thought.

It was being well-cared for, though. The house had been painted and the windows looked new. The door was now a bright red. There were flowers blooming all around. He smiled a little. No one would ever guess what had happened in this house.

"Can I help you?"

Tim jumped and then blushed at the woman staring at him warily.

"Sorry," he said. "I was just looking at the house. You live here?"

"Yes. My husband is inside."

"I was just looking," Tim said. "My grandpa lived here when I was a kid and I was just remembering. It's my first time back."

Tim hoped that she wouldn't invite him in, although he would be surprised if she did. He had no desire to see what it looked like.

"Enjoy your visit," she said.

The woman smiled slightly and then eased past him and walked up to the front door. Tim waited until she got inside and then he sighed.

"I won't," he said softly.

Then, he turned and walked back the way he had come. There was still another stop he had to make.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Gibbs got off the plane in Seattle and headed for the car rental counter. As he walked through the airport, his phone rang.

"Gibbs," he said.

" _Finally! You need to empty your mail box, Gibbs,"_ Abby said. _"It's full! I found where Orin McGee and Calvin Fielding are buried, and Tony and Ziva found where Tim went to school, although it was only sporadic attendance, and where Calvin Fielding lived. They also tracked down Sarah McGee's birth certificate. Her mother died in childbirth."_

"What about McGee's mother?"

" _Still haven't found anything about her. We have a name, Judy Gulay, but it doesn't look like his parents were married, and she had a history of drug use but nothing from the last thirty years."_

"Keep looking."

" _Will do. Both of them are buried in the Vashon Cemetery about twenty miles from Seattle."_

Gibbs noted down the plot number for both graves and got the address where Calvin Fielding had lived. Orin McGee didn't have an address in the area. The question was where to go first. Tim had a few days' head start, and he knew where he was going, but they didn't know how he'd traveled. He hadn't flown because they'd checked that, but he could have traveled other ways without leaving a track. If he'd come by bus or by car, it would have taken him a while to get all the way over here.

Finally, he decided to check out the cemetery first.

He drove over to the Vashon cemetery and decided to check out Orin McGee's grave. When he got there, he looked at it. It was as bare-bones as possible. All it had was his name, the year he was born and the year he died. Nothing else. No mention of family at all. The grave was dirty and worn. Clearly, no one cared to take care of it. It was in a part of the cemetery full of graves in very similar condition. Tim wasn't there.

Gibbs got back in the car and drove across the cemetery to where Calvin Fielding was buried and, instantly, he saw Tim, sitting on a bench and staring at a grave. Gibbs got out of his car and walked over. As he approached, he saw Tim glance at him and then laugh softly.

"Gibbs," he said, shaking his head. "I should have known that you'd show up, even though I made it clear that you didn't have to. How did you figure out to come to Seattle?"

"You didn't erase all the records."

Tim looked back at the grave and nodded.

"I knew I couldn't get them all. I checked once when I was at MIT and I faked the one I used for NCIS, but I guess Abby didn't do the background check when I got hired."

"Doubt it. Not really her job," Gibbs said. He sat down beside Tim.

"How did you guess that I'd be here?"

"Abby found the article about your father being killed. Thought you might be at his grave."

Tim laughed again, but this time it was bitter.

"Only if I wanted to _spit_ on it," he said, still looking at the grave, not at Gibbs. "I have no interest in seeing my father's grave. I came here to see Grandpa...even though he's not _my_ grandpa. He's Sarah's, but he always made me welcome, no matter how many times I showed up."

"Why quit?" Gibbs asked.

"Because I'm a murderer, Gibbs," Tim said, sounding weary. "I've been a murderer for longer than you've known me, and I just can't keep hiding it, not when every time I get confronted with it, I have to fight to pretend I'm not affected."

"You don't know that you killed Benedict."

"It's not about Benedict, although, even if I didn't kill him, I still shot him twice, and he would have felt it before he died." Tim still wouldn't look at him. "Actually, it's more about Archer than it is about Benedict."

"Why? Archer was guilty."

"Yeah. And so am I."

"Who did you kill?" Gibbs asked.

"My father," Tim said, almost in a whisper.

"Article said Calvin Fielding killed him."

"Yeah. That's what it said. That's what's in the police report. That's what everyone believed. I'm the only person in the world who knows...because I'm the only one left alive."

"Tell me," Gibbs said.

"Why?" Tim asked. "It doesn't matter. Just accept failure, Gibbs, and move on."

"You're not a failure," Gibbs said. "I am, but not because of this."

Tim looked at him for a moment. "What do you mean?"

"I'm a failure because you think all I care is about finishing something. You think I don't care about you."

Tim smiled fakely. "Are you really going to pretend that you care about me _now_ , Gibbs?" he asked. "You don't have to. It's not going to change anything. I'm used to it. Grandpa's the one who cared about me without any reason to. And Thom."

"I care," Gibbs said, knowing that Tim wouldn't believe him. Still, it needed to be said.

Tim just shook his head and went back to staring at the grave.

"Tell me," Gibbs said again.

Tim sighed and then was silent for a few minutes. Gibbs didn't push again. He just waited. Tim probably _wanted_ to tell his story. He just didn't know how to start.

"Dad was a worthless bum," Tim said finally. "I can honestly say that I hated him. He would show up, take me from wherever I was and drag me around with him for a few months. Then, he'd get tired of me, leave me somewhere and I'd have to fend for myself until he showed up again. He told me over and over again that I was lucky he cared even that much. No one else cared about me. Even my mother couldn't be bothered to take care of me because I was worthless. I didn't matter to anyone. So if I ever complained about the way he treated me, he would remind me that he was the only one in the world who cared that I was alive at all. No one else did because I didn't matter. I was worthless. That's how I grew up, Gibbs."

"What about your mother?"

"Don't know. She wasn't ever in my life that _I_ remember. She didn't care about me."

"You sure of that?"

"No, but I can't see that there's any positive spin on my mother. Once, I did a search to see if I was missing. I was desperate to find someone who really did think I mattered. There was nothing. If my mother is alive, she doesn't care about me. Probably doesn't even remember that she had a son, if she knew that much. If she's dead, what good does knowing that do me?"

Gibbs couldn't fault Tim's logic, but the beginning of the story certainly said a lot about why Tim was skeptical that Gibbs cared about him, and Gibbs could see, more than ever, that Morrow had been right. Thom had given Tim that caring that Gibbs never had and Tim could have used plenty of it, given how he'd grown up.

"When I was young, I'd just stay wherever Dad left me. Sometimes, I'd find a place to stay, sometimes I wouldn't. Once I got older, I went to Grandpa's."

"Why him?"

"I don't know, actually," Tim admitted. "I don't remember why it was that I knew about him and that he let me stay. Sarah's mom was his daughter. I know that Grandpa was Sarah's legal guardian, though. So I'd go to Grandpa, and he _always_ opened his door for me. Every time. He'd give me a hug and tell me to take a shower," Tim said and laughed. "And things would be good for a little while. Then, Dad would show up and drag me away again, always when things just started to feel normal. I hated it."

"What did you do with your dad?"

"Nothing. Sometimes, I'd be in charge of watching over Dad while he went on drug trips. Most of the time, I don't know why he wanted me with him." Tim shrugged and shook his head again. "Guess his reasons don't really matter. He ruined my life every time he showed up."

Suddenly, Gibbs realized what that lifestyle meant. Abby had said it, but it hadn't really registered. At least as far as Tim's education was concerned, it had been sporadic at best. And yet, Tim had managed to get himself to the point that he was prepared to attend MIT. His achievements were even more significant than Gibbs had realized.

"The only thing that kept me going was knowing that Dad didn't care enough to want me around for long. He'd abandon me again and I could go back to Grandpa's. Sometimes, Grandpa would even apologize for what my dad was doing, but he didn't have to bother. I was just glad to have somewhere to live, and when Sarah got older, I loved being with her." Tim smiled. "She was a happy little kid...because Dad didn't care about her, either." His smile faded. "Until that day."

"What happened?" Gibbs asked.

"I'd been with Grandpa for nearly six months that time. Enough time that I started to think that maybe I could just stay with Grandpa, that Dad wouldn't show up. ...but he did. He came to the house. Grandpa didn't want to let him in, but he didn't want to make a scene, either, and so he opened the door and let him in."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

" _What are you doing back here, Orin?" Calvin asked._

" _I came to get my son," Orin said._

 _Tim was sitting at the table. Orin gestured._

" _Come on, Tim. Time to go."_

" _No," Tim said, standing up. "No, I'm not going with you. I hate going with you. I'm staying here."_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"How old were you?"

"Fifteen," Tim said.

"How did he take it?"

Tim laughed humorlessly again. "Not well. He was mad at me. He pulled out a gun and pointed it at me and said that I was going with him. I said no. Then, it got worse. He said that if I wasn't going with him, then, Sarah would. She was in the bedroom. We always sent her to bed when Dad came around. You never knew what he'd be like when he showed up. So we made her stay in bed and hide until I came to get her. Or until Grandpa did. I was usually gone with Dad. Sarah doesn't even know what he was like because we protected her from him."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Orin started to walk toward the hall, but Tim jumped up and stood in the doorway._

" _No," he said. "You're not going to do that to Sarah. You're not going to do to her what you always do to me!"_

 _Orin grabbed Tim by the shirt with his free hand. He pulled Tim close to his face. His breath was rank._

" _Orin, let him go!" Calvin said, getting to his feet._

 _Orin ignored him and focused only on Tim._

" _You do not give me orders, boy," he snarled. "You belong to me. Sarah belongs to me. I made you and I own the things I make. You do not get to tell me what to do. I give the orders to you. Now, get out of the way."_

" _No!"_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim fell silent again.

"What happened?" Gibbs asked, when he didn't go on.

"Dad said he was going to shoot me. He lifted the gun up. I was afraid that he meant it. After all, he'd told me often enough that I didn't matter. So I fought him. I tried to make it so that he couldn't shoot me and he couldn't get Sarah." Tim stood up and walked away a few steps. "They don't tell you about that, you know. They don't tell you what a real fight is like. You think that you can just throw a few punches and it's over, but it's not like that. When you start a fight, you have to keep going or else you die. Adrenaline says that, whether it's true or not. Once you start fighting, you're in it until it's over, until you're dead or the other guy is dead. You can't stop. When you choose to fight...you have to fight until you win."

Tim voice shook a little, but Gibbs could tell that it was more than just what he was about to tell. He stood up, too.

"You ever been in a fight you couldn't walk away from?" Tim asked.

"Yeah."

"Did you lose?"

"Nope. I won."

"Did the guy die?"

"Nope. Knockout, though."

Tim nodded. He turned, then, and looked Gibbs in the eye. The expression was one that Gibbs couldn't really read. He just waited.

"I don't know how it happened, but I had the gun in my hand. I was trying to keep him from pointing it at me, so I guess that it makes sense, but I don't know how I did it. I just know I did. I had it in my hand and I was pointing it at him. And I thought... I thought that...the only way it would all be over was if Dad couldn't ever come back again."

Tim didn't look away. His expression was almost pleading, but Gibbs didn't know what he was asking for.

"The thing is, Gibbs, I don't remember if I thought that before or after I pulled the trigger. I don't know if I thought it before or after I shot him. I don't know if I shot him because I just didn't want to go with him again or if I shot him because I was afraid he was going to kill me. It just happened so fast. He was so close to me. Point blank. I couldn't miss. He didn't die right away, either. It must have hurt because he screamed. But neither of us did anything to help him. I stood there, with the gun in my hand and watched my father die. Grandpa stood there and watched him die. It happened pretty quick, but not instantly."

And then, Gibbs felt that he mostly understood. To someone who didn't know Tim, the question of whether his thought had come before or after the shot would seem like a strange thing to care about, but to Tim, it was the difference between self-defense and murder. If he thought his dad was going to kill him, Tim was justified in killing him first. If he just wanted to stop his dad from showing up, he wasn't justified.

"How did your grandpa take the blame?" Gibbs asked, still wanting to hear the whole story.

"There was some blood on my shirt. Grandpa made me take it off and he put it in a bucket of bleach. We'd been experimenting with tie-dyeing. Then, he put the shirt in the wash with the rest of the load that had been waiting to be washed. Ruined the whole bunch, but the washer had been running before, so it was most of the way through the cycle. Nothing suspicious about that. Then, he told me to go back with Sarah and stay there until the police came. Next thing I knew, Grandpa was taking the blame, saying that Dad had shown up and threatened him and that the gun had gone off in the scuffle. I tried to tell him that he shouldn't do it, but he said that he was an old man and my father deserved to die, that no one would miss him."

"The police believed him?"

"Why not? Dad had a record. Grandpa didn't. The gun was Dad's. Grandpa didn't own any weapons. He called the police himself. They talked to me. They talked to Grandpa. They didn't talk to Sarah. She was crying back in the room. She'd heard the noise, but she didn't know what it was. We didn't let her come out until they'd cleared away Dad's body. In fact, Grandpa had me take her over to a neighbor's house until they could clean up the blood in the kitchen. She knew he was dead, but not how. And she never saw it."

"What happened to your grandpa?"

"He died," Tim said. "Obviously. He'd told me that I could just stay with him for as long as I wanted. It sounded wonderful, but I still had that thought of whether or not I deserved it. But I stayed and I tried not to think about what I'd done." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I had dreams about it sometimes and once, Grandpa even heard me and you know what he did, Gibbs?" Tim looked up and was almost teary. Not quite, but almost. "He hugged me, Gibbs. He hugged me and told me it would be okay. Besides Sarah, I don't know anyone else who hugged me. Grandpa did. He cared."

And again, Gibbs wished he could go back and redo how he'd treated Tim.

"But Grandpa had a heart attack while Sarah and I were at school. I came home and there were police cars and an ambulance. They said that he'd had a heart attack while getting the mail. If I remember right, the police told me that he'd had a bad heart for a long time and that his heart was going to fail sooner or later. I was angry. I was sad, but I was angry, too. Life got pulled away from me again, but I was also afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"That, with Grandpa gone, someone would figure out that I'd killed my father and come after me. So I told Sarah that we had to go. Grandpa didn't believe in banks. He had a little bit in an account, but it was just enough for his funeral. He'd told me before that he kept most of his money in his mattress. So I got that, bought Sarah and me a ticket on the Greyhound. I went as far away from Seattle as I could get us. I did the best I could to delete our records so no one would know who I was, what I'd done. Then, I got Sarah into foster care because the money Grandpa left wouldn't last long. I told her that she'd only have to be there until I could make enough money to take care of her. Then, I ruined things with the Johnsons by trying to do things the wrong way." Tim sighed. "That's the story."

"What are you going to do now?"

"I don't know," Tim said. "I just know that I can't be where I was with this hanging over me. I never could stop thinking about it. It was always there. It was just a matter of how _much_ I was thinking about it."

He looked at Gibbs again, with that same pleading expression. Gibbs still wasn't sure what he was asking for until it clicked and he felt like an idiot for not getting it sooner. Tim was asking to be told he wasn't what he thought he was. He'd convicted himself of murder, but he wanted someone else to overturn that conviction. He couldn't do it himself.

"Tim, there's no reason to quit. You're not a murderer. It doesn't matter what you thought or when. You were fifteen."

"Old enough to know right from wrong, Gibbs."

"Old enough to know that your father didn't care about you and wouldn't care about killing you."

"I could have been wrong."

"You were fifteen," Gibbs said again. "A teenager."

"I was old enough."

"No," Gibbs said. "Not old enough for how you were treated. I'm sorry I never gave you better."

"There's no reason to apologize. I never expected anything else," Tim said and looked away.

"That's why I'm sorry."

"You're not my father, Gibbs."

"I know."

"You don't have to stay here."

"Yeah, I do."

"Why?"

"Because you are."

Tim was silent.

"You're not a murderer, Tim. You don't have to think of yourself that way. You were defending yourself and your sister from an abusive parent."

"He never hit me."

"There's more than one kind of abuse."

"I still killed him."

"You're not worthless, Tim," Gibbs said. "Come back."

"Director Shepard won't care that I'm gone. She'll probably be glad."

"So? She doesn't matter. I do. I'm your boss."

"She matters. She could fire me."

"She won't."

"She would if I told her what I did."

"No, she wouldn't. I wouldn't let her."

"You can't control the director."

"Watch me. The others want you back."

"Do they know?"

"Some of it. Not all."

"I don't deserve it," Tim said, softly.

"Yes, you do," Gibbs said. "You earned it, just like your position on my team. You killed your father in self-defense and you got yourself out of an abusive situation. You are not a murderer."

"You're not my father, Gibbs," Tim said again.

"I'm not trying to be your father. Your father was a terrible person."

"Yeah, he was. What are you trying to do, then?"

"Keep you from giving up what you have."

"I don't have it. I gave it up already."

"No."

Tim walked back to the bench and sat down again. He rested his elbows on his knees and stared at the grave again.

"I shot my father."

"You said that already."

Gibbs sat down beside him and put his hand on Tim's back.

"Tim, you're a good person. The rest of it doesn't matter."

Tim sat up and looked at him incredulously. "Doesn't matter? I killed a man, Gibbs! I definitely killed one man and I may have killed another one. At the very least, I shot him twice."

"You made a mistake with Benedict, but it's one anyone else would have made. Should you have shot your father? I don't know. Sounds like you did the right thing."

"Then, why do I feel guilty?"

"Because you took a life. That's serious, even when it's right."

That same pleading expression was on Tim's face again.

"You're the only one who ever told me what to do, Gibbs. Not even Grandpa told me what to do. What do I do, now?"

"Go back home."

"I _am_ home."

"No. Home is in D.C."

"This is my past."

"Doesn't have to be your future. I told you I wouldn't give up. I meant it."

Thinking about their first meeting all those years ago, Gibbs decided it was time to give Tim a little push in the right direction. He stood up.

"You going to stay here in the past or live the life you want?"

Tim actually smiled a little and Gibbs could tell he was remembering that night, too.

"I have to decide right now?"

Gibbs smiled. "What else have you got to do?"

He held out his hand.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Tim looked at Gibbs' hand for a few seconds and then took it and let Gibbs pull him to his feet. They started to walk slowly back to the rental.

"I almost said no that night, you know. And I almost left three or four times during that first week."

"That's all?"

Tim smiled. "Maybe a few more than that."

"Why not leave? I couldn't have stopped you."

"Because...you were telling me I could have what I'd always wanted to have. I didn't believe you, but I wanted to. If I left, I'd be giving up the one chance I had. I figured that if I left, I would just be as big a failure as I always thought I was."

"You wouldn't," Gibbs said.

"If I had turned into my father, I would have."

"You couldn't have done that."

"I was trying to," Tim said.

"You would have failed," Gibbs said.

"How do you know?"

"Because you're too good a man to be what your father was."

Tim stopped and looked at him quizzically.

"Have you been saving all this up for today?" he asked.

Gibbs smiled.

"No. I should have said it all along. Morrow said I should."

"What do you mean? Said you should what?"

"He said you needed someone supporting you more than just with getting into college. He was right. You did, and I never gave it to you."

"You did more than anyone else ever did, Gibbs," Tim said.

"That's not saying much," Gibbs said. He put his hands on Tim's shoulders. "Tim, for what it's worth, I'm proud of you."

Tim's eyes widened for a moment in surprise.

"You are?"

"Always have been."

"You have?"

"Yeah."

Tim swallowed a couple of times.

"Thanks, Gibbs," he said, a little thickly.

Gibbs nodded and let him go. They started walking again. Gibbs noticed that Tim was a little taller than he was. Not by much, but when he was walking normally and not trying to hunch down, he really was taller.

When they got to the car, Tim stopped once more.

"You really think I can go back to D.C.?"

"Yeah."

"But you said that they know I lied."

"Doesn't matter."

"Yeah, it does. I lied about the most important parts of my life."

Gibbs shook his head. "Nope. You lied about details. The most important parts are true."

"What parts?"

"The parts that are you, not your family."

Gibbs got into the car but Tim opened the door and then hesitated for a moment. He looked back over his shoulder at Grandpa's grave.

"Stop living in the past, McGee," Gibbs said. "Let it go."

Tim nodded and got in.

"Any other places you want to go?"

Tim almost said no. After all, he'd been to the only meaningful place already. But then, out of nowhere, he thought of somewhere else. It wasn't a happy memory, but he felt that he had to go there.

"Can you take me to Ravenna Park?"

"Where is it?"

"Don't know," Tim admitted. "I wasn't very old when I went there."

Gibbs just nodded and drove until he got to a gas station. Then, he went inside and bought a street map of Seattle. He handed it to Tim and told him to start navigating. It took about an hour to get there. It was on the other side of Seattle from Vashon, but when they reached the parking lot, Tim got out and started walking toward a bridge. Gibbs followed, curious about why Tim wanted to come here.

Tim walked to the middle of the bridge and then turned back to face Gibbs.

"This is the first place that I remember my dad leaving me. It's the first time I remember _knowing_ that he was leaving me, that it wasn't just some kind of mistake. He sent me up on the bridge and I watched him walk away and somehow, I knew he wasn't going to come back and get me, that he was just leaving me here."

"Why come back, now?"

"I don't know. I never thought I would want to remember this, but I felt like I needed to."

Gibbs watched as Tim looked around and then, he remembered another moment. The day Tim took the SAT and Gibbs had come to pick him up.

"Did you think I'd leave you at the testing center?" he asked.

Tim looked at him and nodded ruefully.

"Yeah. It had been about the right amount of time for you to be tired of me and just leave me there. I didn't know if I could believe you or not."

"I wouldn't have lied."

Tim looked around the park again.

"Standing here, the difference between you and Dad is _very_ obvious, Gibbs," he said, trying to laugh but not quite making it.

"Good. Come on."

"Now, where?"

"To a hotel."

"You want me to pay? Since it's my fault we're out here in the first place?"

Gibbs shook his head. "It's my fault, not yours. You shouldn't have felt that you had to leave."

"You did say that you'd take my badge," Tim said.

Gibbs shrugged, not wanting to admit the real reason he'd been so angry in that moment. But then, this had been a day for confessions. Why not?

"It was because I was scared, McGee," he said, softly.

"Scared? You?"

"I thought I might not be fast enough that time."

They started back to the car again, Tim quiet and Gibbs hoping that he didn't have to say anything more about it.

When they reached the end of the bridge, Tim suddenly took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Gibbs looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Tim reddened a little.

"I got off the bridge without being abandoned," he said, sounding embarrassed. "Sometimes, I still feel like that little kid, wishing his dad would just leave him alone or never leave him at all."

They kept walking, but Gibbs had a thought, one that he was surprised he'd never considered before.

"You should talk to someone about that, McGee," he said.

"I did a little bit in college," Tim said. "But not much. I wasn't really wanting to talk about my real past."

"You should. If it's still a problem."

"It's only a problem sometimes."

"That's too often. No reason to keep carrying it around if you don't have to."

When they reached the car, Tim stopped and looked at Gibbs across the top of it.

"How will this work, now, Gibbs?" he asked.

Gibbs raised his eyebrow again in a silent question.

"I confessed to killing a man. You now know that what the police concluded was wrong, that my father wasn't killed by my grandpa. He was killed by me. I lied by omission. Even if you're right and it can be called self-defense, I still am guilty of homicide."

"Do you think your grandpa would want you to ruin what he did?"

"No, but he's not here to be bothered by it," Tim said. "I'm supporting a lie...and now, so are you if you say nothing."

Gibbs smiled a little. "Wouldn't be the first time," he said and got in the car.

Tim followed suit and Gibbs drove them to a hotel. He got Tim a room, ignoring Tim's protest that he could pay for his own room. Then, they walked to their rooms. Tim's was just down the hall from Gibbs', and he stopped before going into the room.

"Are you going to trust me?" he asked, smiling.

"Don't have much choice," Gibbs said. "See you in the morning."

He went into his room and sat down. Alone, he thought about what Tim had said, and the real question was not what would happen because they now knew the truth but rather would Tim be willing to leave things as they were now that others knew the truth besides him.

As far as Gibbs was concerned, there was no reason to change anything. Orin McGee had been scum and he likely would have killed Tim, based on what Tim had said. Calvin Fielding clearly hadn't felt any regret over the death of his son-in-law. All in all, it was better to leave the account as it was.

But would _Tim_ let that be the way things fell out? Gibbs wasn't sure.

Better to anticipate. Nodding to himself, Gibbs left the hotel room again, stopping only long enough to tell Tim that he had an errand. Normally, he wouldn't bother, but after hearing Tim talk about being abandoned and the fear he still had, Gibbs wasn't going to let Tim think that about him if he could possibly avoid it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He felt like his life had turned upside down and then right side up and then back again. He felt like his mind had experienced whiplash about three times. He wasn't sure he could believe that everything would work out so simply, that everyone would just accept him back, no questions asked, that there would be no consequences to his admission of guilt. Gibbs might think differently, but he was not judge, jury and executioner. He didn't get to choose what everyone else thought.

And now that someone else knew what had really happened, Tim didn't know if he himself could accept going back, working alongside people who _weren't_ murderers. Even if he accepted that Ziva had killed many more people than he had, she hadn't killed people outside of her job. It was just that her job had been very different from his.

But could he really give up Sarah? Tim wasn't sure about that, not after all he'd tried to do to keep her close. And what would he do? He'd had no plans at all.

 _Where would I have ended up if Gibbs hadn't come?_

Tim didn't know the answer to that question, which was probably at least partly an answer in and of itself.

But what now?

He just didn't know. If he had any kind of idea of what to do, he would probably just slip out of the room, leave Gibbs another note and get on with things.

But he didn't have even a glimmer of an idea. He'd been on the straight and narrow for too many years to be willing to go into a life of crime, and everything he might do as a good guy would be tarnished by the fact that he really wasn't...no matter what Gibbs might claim.

A real man would have owned up to his crime and not let his elderly grandfather take the blame.

He sighed once more, still feeling no better, and then decided that he needed to take a shower. He felt dirty after being on the bus for so long and then walking around Seattle.

At least, a shower would take up some time.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs pulled up in front of a small well-kept house. The yard was nearly bursting with flowers. Gibbs recognized dahlias and roses, but there were plenty of other flowers he didn't know. Whoever lived here definitely liked gardening. This kind of garden would require a lot of time and attention.

He walked up to the front door (passing through a trellis covered in ivy), and knocked politely.

The door opened just a crack.

"Who are you?"

"Name's Jethro Gibbs."

"What do you want?"

"I was hoping to talk to Detective Eric Plummer."

"What for?"

"About a case."

"Why?"

Gibbs pulled out his badge and ID and held it up to the crack in the door.

"I work for NCIS. I just need to ask some questions. That's all."

The door opened all the way and an older man with not one single hair on his head stood there, looking a little sheepish.

"Sorry about that, Agent Gibbs," he said. "I was a detective for a lot of years. Some people might be inclined to hold grudges. But I'm not a detective anymore. You can just call me Eric. Come on into the backyard."

Gibbs nodded and followed. The backyard was also small, but it, too, was full of flowers.

"You're a gardener?"

Eric nodded. "My wife and I. Always was my hobby when I needed to relax. There's just something about getting down on your hands and knees and working the soil. Kept me grounded," he said and grinned.

Gibbs got the pun and smiled.

"Now, what's your question, Agent Gibbs?" he asked. "I'll warn you now that I worked a lot of cases in the last forty years of my life. I don't remember them all."

"This one would have been about twelve years ago. Orin McGee reportedly broke into his father-in-law's house and was shot by Calvin Fielding."

"Oh. Yeah, I remember that one. Whatever happened to those two kids? Fielding died only a few months after the case was over and I never heard. I assumed they ended up with other family."

"Nope. Foster care."

"Ah, that's too bad. What brings you into this?"

"Tim McGee works for me. Sarah McGee is in college."

Eric looked surprised but pleased.

"Glad to hear it. These kinds of cases don't always end up well. What's your question, then?"

"Was there any question about who the guilty party was?"

"Nope. Calvin Fielding admitted to it from the beginning. It was open and shut. They didn't even bother to put a full team on it. Guilty party confessed, victim was asking for it, no one really around to care. I was pretty much working on my own."

"What if I were to tell you that Calvin Fielding lied?"

Eric looked at him for a long moment, deciding how to respond. Then, he smiled.

"Ah," he said, finally. "The kid confessed to you, did he?"

"You knew?" Gibbs was surprised, although not overly.

"Yeah, I knew. Let me tell you, these are the kinds of cases that made being a detective hard."

Eric leaned back and explained.

"I'd had a few questions about Mr. Fielding's account that I just couldn't let go and so I went back to his house while the kids were in school to see if I could figure it out. I had my suspicions."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

" _What can I do for you, Detective?" Calvin asked. "I've answered all your questions so far. I thought you were finished."_

" _Do you know what GSR is, Mr. Fielding?"_

" _No, sir."_

" _It stands for gunshot residue. Do you know what that is?"_

" _No, sir, although I could guess from the name."_

" _It's particles that get deposited on the hands and clothes of someone who has fired a gun. Typically, it hangs around for a few hours before it wears off. Since it's been a few days, it would be too late to test now, but we did test you on the day of Orin McGee's death. Your test came up negative."_

" _Oh, yes. I remember that, now," Calvin said. "I guess I forgot. The man who did it said that it didn't really mean anything, necessarily."_

" _It's true, but...I can't help wondering... what would the GSR test results have been had we run the test on your grandson that day?"_

 _Calvin Fielding had no poker face. His fear and concern were apparent from the moment Eric asked the question._

" _Please, Detective. Don't."_

" _Don't what?"_

" _Don't go after Tim. He's already been through so much. Don't do this to him."_

" _Are you telling me that your grandson killed his father? That you lied?"_

" _Please."_

" _You'd better explain yourself, Mr. Fielding. Lying about a murder is a serious crime in and of itself."_

" _It wasn't murder," Calvin said. "Tim was afraid that Orin was going to kill him. He probably would have, that... I never could figure out what my daughter saw in him. Maybe he could be charming when he wanted to. He abandoned Tim over and over. He would take him away from here, disappear for a few months and then leave Tim when he least expected it and Tim would make his way back here. Tim had enough and he said no and Orin threatened him. I tried to break it up, but they started fighting and before I knew it, Tim had fired the gun. It was Orin's gun, but Tim got it somehow in the fight. He just stood there, staring. Like he couldn't believe what had just happened. I took the gun and told him to get rid of his shirt. There was blood on it. Detective Plummer, I'm not an educated man. I don't know much. I'm poor. There's so little I can do for Tim, but I can stop him from being blamed for the misfortune of having Orin for a father. He needs to be free to make a better life than I can give him. He can't do that if he has a record, even if you believe that he did the right thing. People will see and they'll pass him by. He's been passed by more than any man should and he's not even a man yet."_

" _What if it comes down to you going to prison?"_

" _I probably don't have much time left anyway. Bad heart, you see. I'd do it, gladly, if it would help Tim get a better life."_

" _Will it?"_

" _It'll give him a chance. Nothing more than that, but nothing less, either. Look at this place, sir. It's nothing much, but it's the closest to home Tim has ever had. Don't take what little he has away. Don't make him pay for what his father is. I lied, yes, but I did it to save him."_

" _What if you're wrong, Mr. Fielding? What if your grandson didn't do it on accident?"_

" _If you're saying that Tim had planned to kill his father, you're wrong. He could have killed his father many times over the years when Orin was tripped out on drugs. Tim doesn't solve his problems that way."_

" _So what do you want me to do?"_

" _I want you to leave things as they are. No one else thought anything of it. Leave it that way."_

" _You want me to lie."_

" _Yes," Calvin said, no prevaricating. "To save a life."_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"And you agreed?" Gibbs asked.

Eric nodded. "Yeah, I did. I knew that no one was going to care about a druggie dying in a home invasion. It was a news story initially, just because Mr. Fielding was his father-in-law. Family killing family always gets attention, but after the first couple of days, no one cared. I presented my findings to the D.A. and he decided not to press charges, even. That's how little Orin McGee mattered to anyone. I sure didn't care about him. Everything I had seen in his records matched up with what Mr. Fielding claimed he was: a nobody who never did anything in his life to make things better."

"What about McGee?"

Eric shrugged. "Even if Tim McGee wanted his father dead, I feel like he probably did the world a favor. ...but I don't think he planned it out. I think he was a teenager who'd been through too much in his life already and he wanted to fight for something better. People who don't know how to fight, don't know how to stop, either. The best man in the world will still kill if he's never been taught how to stop fighting. I saw him with his sister, and it was obvious how much he cared about her. He was a good kid."

"He told me that his dad threatened to take her."

"Another incentive to fight back. If what Mr. Fielding said about Tim was true..."

"Matches what he told me."

"...then, that's even more incentive. Honestly, Agent Gibbs, I see no reason to drag all this up again. You're not telling me anything that makes me think I made a mistake. Why have it come out now all these years later?"

"McGee's having an attack of conscience. He's in law enforcement."

"And he knows he deceived the law. I see. Doesn't want to be what his dad was," Eric said, smiling slightly. "Well, I don't know if it'll help, but you tell him what I told you. I think the law was served just fine. He's remembering it like a teenager would. All his fault, even though it's not his fault at all. It'd be more of a story now with where he works, but at the end of the day, it would still turn out to be self-defense. Not only was his life under threat, but his sister's life was, too. He's not guilty in my book, Agent Gibbs. You can tell him that."

"I will."

"Actually, wait a moment."

Eric got up and walked over to one of his gardens where a few daffodils were still blooming.

"I was really surprised to see these, you know," he said. "They're usually one of the first flowers blooming. The ones out front have been and gone for weeks, but these were late this year. Starting to fade now, of course."

He leaned over and clipped a few daffodils. Then, he walked back to Gibbs and handed him the flowers.

"I know this'll seem weird to you and it may to him, but this is the best gift I can give him. Daffodils are a symbol of new beginnings. If he's been living in the past all this time, feeling guilt for something he doesn't need to feel guilty for, then, let this be a new beginning for him. Give him those flowers. Tell him what I said, what his grandpa told me, and tell him to move on. His grandfather only wanted him to have a good life. If he's got it now, then, he should keep it."

Gibbs did find the flowers strange, but he took them, and he also took the sentiment being expressed which made a lot more sense than some fading daffodils.

"Thanks," he said.

"You're welcome, and thank you for letting me know how he ended up. I'm sure the road to get there wasn't easy, but I felt bad for the kid, especially once I realized that he was the one who pulled the trigger. Killing a man's never easy, and at that age, it could really mess you up."

"It almost did," Gibbs said.

"Yeah. I figured. But if he's working for NCIS and has good life, then, he's overcoming that part and he just needs to keep it up."

Eric put out his hand and Gibbs shook it firmly. Then, he followed Eric to the front door and went out to the car.

"Good luck," Eric said.

"Thanks."

Gibbs got in the car and put the daffodils on the seat. As he drove back to the hotel, he looked at the flowers and found it strange, still. But then, nothing said he had to give the flowers to Tim. He could just pass along the information.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Tim wasn't really hungry, so after showering, he decided to just get ready for bed, even though it was far from really being time to sleep. He started brushing his teeth and he heard a knock. He assumed it was Gibbs and quickly rinsed out his mouth before walking over to peek through the peephole.

He was right. Tim took a deep breath and opened the door.

"Yeah, Boss?" he asked.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow at Tim's apparel, the fact that he was holding a toothbrush. Tim shrugged, although he did feel a little embarrassed.

"I didn't feel like going anywhere, so I figured I might as well shower and change. Where did you go?"

Gibbs walked in and sat down on one of the chairs. Tim sat on the bed.

"What is it, Boss?" he asked.

"I went and talked to the detective who investigated your father's death."

"Why?" Tim asked. "I didn't lie about what happened."

"Didn't think you did."

"Then, why?"

"Because you think that you were in the wrong for killing your dad and letting your grandpa say he'd done it."

"I don't see how else you can spin it, Gibbs. I killed a man and then lied about it. That's pretty much wrong on all fronts."

"The detective knew your grandpa lied."

For a moment the words didn't really register. Then, Tim realized what Gibbs just said and he leaned forward.

"He did? How? Why didn't he do anything about it?"

"He did. He talked to your grandpa and all he wanted was to protect you. The detective sees what you did as self-defense. He doesn't think you deserve any punishment. So he went along with the story."

"What else did he say?"

"That you need to stop living in the past. You have a good life. That's what your grandpa wanted for you."

Tim set down his toothbrush.

"I don't know how, Gibbs," he confessed. "It's a weight I've been carrying around for half my life."

"Well, put it down," Gibbs said.

Tim laughed softly. "It's not that simple."

"Maybe not, but that's what you need to do."

"I don't know if I can."

"Then, when we get back, you're going to start talking to someone about it."

"If I do that, I'll have to let someone know what really happened."

"Already done that."

Tim smiled a little. "You know what I mean, Gibbs. I haven't talked about this to anyone except you. Not even Grandpa. When it was over, it was over."

"Doctor-patient privilege. No one will know."

"Unless someone asks."

"Why would they?"

"I don't know."

Gibbs smiled. "Then, why are you worrying about it?"

"Because I worry about everything."

"Well, don't worry about that."

"I'll try."

Gibbs got up to leave, apparently satisfied. Tim wasn't.

"Gibbs..."

He turned back.

"What happens when we get back to DC?"

Gibbs raised a silent eyebrow.

"Everyone is going to know that I already knew you, that you bailed me out of a bad situation. What..." Tim stopped, not wanting to ask for something he'd not had, maybe ever.

Gibbs' expression became just a little confused. Clearly, he wasn't thinking along the same lines. Tim lost his nerve.

"Never mind. What time is the flight tomorrow?"

"Noon."

"Okay."

Tim turned away and spied his toothbrush. He picked it up and headed back to the bathroom.

"McGee."

"It's nothing, Gibbs. See you tomorrow."

A long pause.

"All right."

Tim heard the door close behind him and he sighed. On the one hand, he did appreciate what Gibbs had done. On the other...while it probably made him ungrateful, it didn't seem like enough. Tim wanted more. He looked at himself in the mirror and sighed.

What he wanted was stupid. He was an adult. He needed move past those childish ideas.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs walked into his room, wondering what Tim had been going to ask him. He'd had that same expression that Gibbs had seen off and on in the years he'd known Tim. He wasn't sure what it meant, but Tim hadn't wanted to explain and Gibbs decided to let him. After everything that had happened today, Tim deserved some time to relax.

Instead, he decided to let Ducky know that the crisis was averted for the time being. He pulled out his phone and dialed.

" _What is it, Jethro? Did you find him?"_

"Yeah."

" _Is he all right?"_

"More or less."

" _What happened?"_

"He didn't feel like he could have his life since he was hiding the truth."

" _What truth?"_

"He killed his father in self-defense when he was fifteen."

" _Oh, dear. What led to that?"_

"His dad was a drug addict who neglected Tim his whole life. Threatened him and his sister. Tim fought back and shot him while they were fighting."

" _That must have been hard. How was that missed?"_

"His grandfather took the blame and the detective decided to go along with it."

" _And is Timothy accepting that?"_

"Mostly."

" _Mostly?"_

"Says he doesn't think he can let go."

" _I'm sure it must be difficult for him, but it is a necessity if he's going to move on."_

"I told him that he'll talk to someone when we get back."

" _That's a good idea. Is he coming back?"_

"Yeah. Tomorrow."

" _The others will want to know the details. They've already been discussing it."_

"Figured."

" _What will you suggest?"_

"That they leave him alone."

Ducky chuckled. _"I meant to Timothy."_

"I'll leave it up to him."

" _If you don't mind some intrusion into your private affairs, Jethro, I think he'll need your advice."_

"Why?"

" _Because you're the one who knows the whole story and you know him. If you were able to convince him to come back to what he'd determinedly left, you clearly have some influence over his choices, and he probably cares deeply about what you have to say."_

"He said I was the only one who ever told him what to do."

" _That's not a negative, unless you can tell me he was resentful when he said it."_

"He wasn't," Gibbs said, reluctantly.

" _Then, he is likely looking to you to fill a void he's always had. Jethro, you need to be willing to open yourself up a little. I realize that it's not what you want, but if you truly care about Timothy's future, he needs more than just an employer. He needs family."_

"He has family, Duck."

" _Not enough. He has a younger sister. If he has a mother, Abigail hasn't been able to find her. Whatever family he might have had is not part of his life. You are. If he isn't explicitly asking for you to be his family, it's because he probably thinks you aren't interested."_

Gibbs suppressed a sigh.

" _I know that this isn't your usual approach, but it might be time to consider changing your usual approach. Even if it's just to let Timothy know that you're available for more than just when he's in trouble. Just keep it in mind. We'll be happy to have him back."_

"I will."

Gibbs hung up and let out the sigh. But then, he thought back, not to his conversation with Ducky or even with Morrow, but back to something he himself had said, even before he'd met Tim.

" _I'm not asking you to adopt him, Jethro. He just needs someone to call him out. He needs someone who will be there to push him when he starts to get off track. He needs a mentor, not a father."_

" _Sounds like he needs both."_

" _If you're offering..."_

" _No."_

He had known what Tim needed just from his friend's description. He just hadn't wanted to be the one to fill that need. But it looked like it was going to be him or no one.

The question was whether or not he was ready to take that on.

 _Am I?_

Gibbs had decided that he didn't want to get into a serious relationship after his last divorce. He had decided he didn't really want a family after he'd lost his own. How could he replace the perfect life he'd had? Anything he got after that would just be a pale shadow of what he had experienced. Why deal with leftovers?

But now, if he did this, it wouldn't be for himself, but for Tim. _Tim_ needed it, but he needed something real, not something phoned in. But would Tim _actually_ want Gibbs to try and fumble his way through that kind of thing?

Gibbs didn't know, and he wasn't really comfortable with putting himself in that position after he'd so handily avoided it for so long.

But it was time to take a risk and offer Tim what he was pretty sure Tim still wanted.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The next morning, Tim ate the free continental breakfast, showered, lazed around the hotel room until Gibbs came and told him it was time to go.

They walked to the car and when Tim opened the door, he noticed a few fading daffodils on the seat.

"Boss? What's this?" he asked.

Gibbs looked at the seat and shrugged.

"From Detective Plummer."

"Who?"

"The detective in your dad's death."

"Oh. Why did he give you flowers?"

Gibbs chuckled. "He didn't. He gave them to you."

"Okay. Why did he give _me_ flowers?"

"Said that daffodils are a symbol of beginning a new life and that's what you need to do."

"Oh." Tim looked at the flowers again. One part of him was wondering just how strange that detective was that he would randomly give flowers to someone to make a point. The other part was really touched by the gift. Then, he looked at the flowers again and at his watch.

"What, McGee?" Gibbs asked, sounding resigned.

"Would you mind going back to the cemetery, Gibbs? Just for a second?"

Gibbs looked at his own watch and then nodded. He didn't ask why. He just tossed his bag into the back seat while Tim carefully gathered up the flowers. Then, they drove to the cemetery and Gibbs navigated to Calvin Fielding's grave again. Tim was impressed that he remembered and that he knew exactly where Tim wanted to go.

Tim got out of the car and walked over to the grave. Carefully, he set the limp flowers down on the grave.

"Thanks for what you did, Grandpa," he said softly. "I wish I hadn't lost you so soon. I miss having someone who's always there. But I do want to have a real life. I hope that you're proud of me."

He stared at the grave for a few more seconds and then walked back to the car.

"Thanks. I guess I'm ready to go."

"You sure?"

"No, but I think so."

Gibbs smiled and drove them to the airport. They checked in, waited around, got on the plane, and didn't talk almost at all on the flight back to D.C.

Being back in D.C. was both a relief and a source of anxiety. No matter what Gibbs had said, Tim wasn't sure that he would still have a job or that his colleagues would truly want him back.

As they walked through Dulles, Gibbs kept up his usual swift pace, but Tim started lagging behind, just a little bit. A step or two. Or three.

Finally, Gibbs paused and looked back. To Tim's surprise, he smiled a little.

"You'll have to buy another ticket if you plan on running this time, McGee," he said.

Tim reddened and he sped up.

"Don't worry," Gibbs said, as they continued to walk.

"That's asking a bit much," Tim said.

"Don't worry anyway."

Finally, they headed out of the secure area and Tim was surprised to see Tony, Ziva, Abby, Ducky and Jimmy all standing there, waiting for him. Tony had even made up a sign with Tim's name on it.

As soon as she saw him, Abby grinned and ran over to hug him.

"You're back!" she said, happily. "Don't go away like that again, okay?"

"I'll try not to," Tim said, softly.

"Good. You scared me, Tim."

"Ah, you figured out where to go this time," Tony said, as Abby let Tim go. "I guess that means I don't need to keep holding up this sign. When you get lost, Probie, you really get lost."

"Lost?" Tim echoed.

"Yeah. You ended up in Seattle. That's lost. I would have thought you'd notice sooner."

Tim smiled a little.

"Welcome back, McGee," Ziva said.

That was all, but it was enough.

"Thanks."

Both Ducky and Jimmy also welcomed him, but Tim had to ask the question.

"Are you sure you guys want me back?" he asked. "You know I lied to you."

"Don't worry about it, McGee," Tony said. "All you have to do now is realize that we know what _you_ lied about, but you have no idea what _we've_ been lying about. It'll drive you crazy."

"I don't think it will," Tim said. "I'm serious."

Tony was still smiling, but he got serious, too.

"We're serious, too. Don't worry about it. You had your reasons for not telling us everything. I don't think we know everything now, either, but get this straight, McGee. You're not allowed to call yourself worthless. Only I can do that, even at that, I wouldn't with witnesses."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Tim asked, although he was smiling, too.

"I think so. Does it?"

"I don't know. I'll get back to you."

"He would never call you worthless, McGee," Ziva said, "because you are not worthless. Not even Tony would say that you are."

"Nope. I wouldn't," Tony agreed. "I'd say a lot of other things, but not that."

"So...now, what?" Tim asked.

"That depends on you, Timothy," Ducky said.

"Does it?" Tim asked. "I don't think it really does."

"Yes, it does," Ziva said. "We have said we are happy to have you come back. Are you happy to _come_ back?"

"I think so."

"Why only _think_?" Abby asked. "Why don't you know?"

Tim hitched one shoulder, feeling very self-conscious with everyone staring at him. Thankfully, Ducky saved him from having to explain himself.

"Will you be at work tomorrow?" he asked.

Tim looked at Gibbs.

"Will I?" he asked.

Gibbs smiled and nodded. Tim looked back at the others.

"Yes."

"Then, we'll see you tomorrow, Probie."

"Okay."

Abby hugged him once more and then, they left while Tim walked with Gibbs to his car.

"You going to tell Sarah what happened?" Gibbs asked as they walked.

"I probably should. She's asked me about it more than once. I always put her off."

"You should."

Tim nodded.

"And tomorrow, you're going to start talking to someone about all this."

Tim nodded again.

"No complaint?"

"No. You're probably right that I should."

It was quiet for a few minutes as Gibbs started to drive Tim home.

"Are you thinking of running again?" Gibbs asked.

Tim shrugged.

"It's tempting."

"Why?"

"Everything is too complicated. I don't feel like it can really just go back to how it was."

"It can."

"How?"

"Just try."

Tim nodded.

"You really think that Director Shepard won't want me out?"

"I don't care what she wants. You're not out. Come to work tomorrow."

"Okay."

Gibbs dropped Tim off at his apartment and then, left Tim to his own devices.

Tim walked into his apartment and was surprised that it looked the same as it had before.

"You were only gone for a few days, Tim. What did you expect?" he said aloud.

He took a deep breath, went into his bedroom and sat down on the bed. Then, he lay back and stared at the ceiling.

 _They know._

The one person who didn't deserved to.

Nodding to himself, Tim sat up and called Sarah.

" _Tim! Where have you been? I was really getting worried."_

"Sorry. Sarah, I need to tell you about Dad. Can you come over?"

" _Of course! I'll be there as soon as I can."_

"Okay. See you then. Bye."

Tim hung up and waited for Sarah to get there. He wasn't happy about telling her, but now that Gibbs knew, he felt that he couldn't keep it from his sister any longer.

When Sarah arrived, Tim sat her down and told her all about what had happened, albeit without details. When he finished, he stopped talking and waited for Sarah to respond.

"Tim...why didn't you ever tell me?"

Tim smiled. "Sarah, you were seven. I really hadn't... I didn't want to talk about it for my own sake."

"But you were carrying that around the whole time?"

"Yeah."

Sarah hugged him tightly.

"Thanks for telling me, Tim. I'm sorry that I never knew."

"I don't regret not telling you, but with everything imploding like it did for me...I knew I had to tell you now."

"I wish Grandpa hadn't died," Sarah whispered. "Then, you wouldn't have been on your own."

"I wish he hadn't died, too," Tim said. "I hated losing him."

"You haven't lost me, Timmy," Sarah said. "Never."

"Thanks, Sarah."

The lead balloon was still there, but it wasn't quite so heavy as it had been.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Over the next couple of weeks, things did start to head back to normal. Gibbs made sure that Tim started talking to a psychiatrist about his childhood and what had happened with his father. If Tony and Ziva were both a little _too_ exuberant in welcoming Tim back, it did show that they wanted him to be there.

What _hadn't_ happened yet was that Gibbs had not yet said anything about his private musings to Tim. He had put it off more than once, telling himself that it was better that Tim had a chance to get back in the groove before having another curve ball thrown at him.

But in reality, Gibbs knew that he was just putting off something that made him uncomfortable. If it weren't for the fact that he was pretty sure that Tim really did want something like what he was offering, he wouldn't bother at all.

He looked across the bullpen and saw Tim sitting at his computer, working, as usual. He hadn't said anything to Gibbs about their conversations in Seattle. Gibbs knew that this wasn't going to be an easy thing, but he still felt that he needed to. Finally, he got up and walked over to Tim's desk.

"McGee."

"Yeah, Boss?" Tim asked, looking up.

"Come over to my place after work."

"Okay."

Gibbs nodded and walked back to his desk. He saw Tim glance at him once, looking a little confused, but he said nothing more. Not that Gibbs expected him to. He expected Tim to be uncertain of what Gibbs wanted, but that he wouldn't dare ask for details.

That gave him a few hours to get himself ready.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim pulled up at Gibbs' house, wondering what was going on. Was Gibbs going to berate him again? But Tim didn't see any reason why he would. Gibbs knew that Tim was still going to the shrink and Tim could admit that it was helping him. So it wasn't that. Jenny hadn't given him any grief about rescinding Tim's resignation...at least, not that Tim himself was aware of. In fact, it was like he'd never quit at all.

All in all, Tim had no idea what had led to Gibbs' requesting his presence.

So he was here.

He knocked once and then walked inside. He headed for the basement, knowing that was where Gibbs was going to be.

Sure enough, Gibbs was there, working on a plank of wood.

"Hey, Gibbs," he said. "What did you want?"

"Come on down," Gibbs said.

Tim thumped down the stairs and sat on a stool. To his surprise, Gibbs stopped working and sat down on another stool, facing him.

"How's it going?" Gibbs asked.

"Fine," Tim said, shrugging.

There was an awkward silence. Tim got the strange feeling that Gibbs was uncomfortable. He had no idea why.

"What's up, Gibbs?" Tim asked. "Is something wrong?"

"Thom reminded you of your grandpa."

Tim was surprised at the change in topic, but he answered.

"Yeah. Kind of. It was more that...that he seemed to like me from the get go. I was rude to him, even, and he still treated me like I mattered. His age definitely made me more comfortable around him. Why?"

"Do you have any other family?"

"Besides Sarah? Not that _I_ know of," Tim said. "If I have any relatives floating around out there, I've never met them. Since I don't know who my mother was and I hated my dad, I don't really have any desire to find out."

Gibbs nodded.

Another awkward silence. Tim fidgeted a little, wondering where this was going.

"Gibbs, I promise. I'm not lying to you anymore. You know the truth of what I lied about before."

"Not worried about that."

"Then, what's going on?"

Another pause and then, Gibbs took a breath, seemingly steeling himself to speak.

"You should have had more than I gave you," Gibbs said.

Tim shook his head. "No, Gibbs. We don't need to get into this again. I never..."

"...expected it," Gibbs finished. "I know. That's why you should have had more. So you _could_ expect it. It's too late to fix that now, but..." A brief pause. "I'm not offering to be your father. You don't need that, but you do need family."

Tim sat there, wondering if Gibbs could really be saying what it seemed like he was saying. Not daring to confirm or deny, Tim just sat there in silence.

"I'm not saying I'll be any good at it. You could do better, but if you're interested, you can count on me."

"Let me get this straight," Tim said. "You're telling me that I can think of you as family. After all these years, you're saying that _you_ can be my family."

"Yeah."

"You don't seem very happy about it, Gibbs," Tim said. "I don't need you to do something you don't want to do. I've lived a long time without family, besides Sarah. It's not going to kill me to keep on that way."

"I'm not offering to do something I don't want to do," Gibbs said. "I'm not going to be any good at it, and I probably won't change much. But the offer is there."

Against all odds, Tim felt himself get a little teary. Gibbs was not being sentimental. He wasn't being emotional. He wasn't any of those things, but it didn't matter. This touched Tim deeply. He held back the tears, but he couldn't help but feel them.

"Gibbs... I've never had a family. I don't have any expectations," he said, laughing a little. "I don't know what a real family is like. All I've ever had is crap. Just those few months with Grandpa. If you mean this..."

"I do."

"Then...then, you're offering me something that's...infinitely better than what I've had. Because I've never had anything good," Tim said.

Gibbs actually looked sympathetic.

"Tim, you don't have to accept whatever is there."

Tim shook his head. "No, Gibbs. I do. Not because of the way you're thinking it. It's not because I have nothing if I don't accept it. It's because... It's like when you promoted me and put me on your team. I had a choice to reject what you did, but I'd have been stupid to do it because you were giving me something that I wasn't going to get any other way. I'd be stupid to reject this, now. Gibbs, I grew up knowing that I didn't matter, that no one cared about me, that I was worthless. That's why I never trusted you. If I had, I would have understood what you said in the beginning, that you were making a promise. You didn't break it. Not ever."

Gibbs said nothing, but Tim understood.

"So...what does your offer mean...really."

Gibbs smiled.

"Christmas and birthdays. ...and whenever else you need me to be there."

"You know what?" Tim said. "That sounds amazing."

"Then, you've got it," Gibbs said.

"Thanks."

There were a few seconds of complete silence, the two of them just sitting there, staring at each other. Then, Gibbs stood up and walked over to him. He squeezed Tim's shoulder and patted him on the back.

Then, he walked behind Tim and came back. He set a large, heavy package in Tim's lap.

"What's this?"

"Happy birthday."

Tim laughed. "It's not my birthday, Gibbs."

"Making up for the past."

"You don't have to."

"I know."

He didn't say it, but Tim heard it anyway.

 _I want to._

Tim smiled and opened the package. He laughed in surprise.

"Where did you get these?"

"Where I got them before, but this time, they're yours."

Tim swallowed a new lump in his throat as he stared at the textbooks he'd studied at the beginning of his journey.

"Thanks, Gibbs."

"You're welcome."

Tim set the books aside, stood up and, suppressing his own awkwardness, he gave Gibbs a hug.

"Thank you," he said again.

"You're welcome," Gibbs said. "Anytime."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Christmas..._

"I'm nervous, Tim," Sarah said. "It's not that I haven't met him, but..."

Tim smiled. This wasn't exactly what _he_ had experienced before, either, but he was actually excited for it. A real Christmas, even if it was with Gibbs who wasn't a mushy, Santa-Claus type.

It would be with family.

He knocked on the door and then walked in. There was a tree. It did have a few decorations on it and a few presents under it, but that was it as far as Christmas decor went.

But it didn't matter to Tim at all.

"Gibbs! We're here!" he called.

"In the basement!" came the faint reply.

"Of course," Tim said.

He smiled at Sarah and she grinned back.

"Tim, you look so happy about this. You'd think it was the most amazing thing ever."

"That's because it is, Sarah. It's the first time in my life that I've really been able to celebrate Christmas the way it should be. With family."

Sarah hugged him around the waist and then went to put her bag down one of the spare rooms. Even though they were both in D.C., they were going to stay the night tonight and celebrate Christmas with Gibbs. Then, Sarah would go to the Johnsons' home for New Year's. While she was gone, Tim walked over to the tree and looked at the twinkling lights. What he would have given to have something even as simple as this when he was a kid.

For just a moment, the lead balloon swelled up. It wasn't as big or heavy as it had been. It was just something that he hadn't yet been able to set aside completely.

He took a deep breath and let it out.

...and then, jumped a little when a heavy hand squeezed his shoulder.

"You're not who you used to be, Tim," Gibbs said, softly. "Don't think you are."

"I'm trying."

"I know."

"Thank you, Gibbs. For everything."

"Merry Christmas."

Tim smiled and knelt down by the tree. Then, he opened his bag and put a few small packages under the tree beside the few that were already there.

Seeing the presents, knowing where he was, what he had. He had everything he'd never had as a child. It was amazing. It was wonderful. Nothing could top it.

"Merry Christmas," Tim whispered.

There was nothing left to say.

FINIS!


End file.
